


An Authentic Saiyan

by Butane Baby (Butane_Baby9)



Category: Dragon Ball Super, Dragon Ball Z
Genre: Angst and Feels, Drama, F/M, Family, Family Drama, Family Feels, Gen, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2020-06-22 11:15:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19666360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butane_Baby9/pseuds/Butane%20Baby
Summary: Fifteen-year-old Trunks wonders how his father Vegeta sees him compared with Cabba, the young newcomer who shares the prince's status as a "pure" Saiyan, as well as a hunger for learning. Once upon a time when he was young, Vegeta scornfully called another child like his son a "half-breed." Now he may be confronted with the fallout from a belief others thought he rejected.





	1. Uncompromising Support

Trunks and Goten had been restless most of the day but managed to burn their energy sparring and swimming together, until it started raining. A year had passed since the universal tournament of power in which their fathers Vegeta and Goku battled. The boys didn't learn until later that their universe could have been wiped out had it not been for the bravery, smarts, and teamwork of family and friends who fought during the competition.

Naturally, Trunks was far more peevish than his best friend about this knowledge. Much like his father, Goten was more easygoing than Prince Vegeta's cocky teenage fireball. However, Trunks couldn't lash out because he heard the news after eavesdropping on one of his mother's phone conversations.

He couldn't understand why his parents didn't level with him this time. He and Goten fought courageously when they were tots, and neither appeared to be traumatized by the terrifying challenges everyone faced during Majin Buu's near-destruction of Earth. Both had more combat skills before the age of ten than many adult fighters. He seemed to have forgotten that their parents did _everything_ in their power to protect them, as well, including soothe their hurts. The adults had not forgotten that the two had been happy boys. It was a tough call for everyone involved to raise them to enjoy life and remain vigilant.

No one wanted to strip the boys of their innocence completely, but of the four parents involved, Vegeta had seen the absolute lowest and nastiest of mortals. Each waking day he recalled his own failures and sins. "Innocence" in his earlier life under Frieza's reign had been an unjustified death sentence for countless lives across their universe. Goku had been one of the few Vegeta knew who maintained a broader optimism about life despite being attacked constantly by nefarious individuals. Although both enjoyed the thrill of the fight, only the Saiyan prince dwelt constantly on existential threats to their livelihoods - because his past _traumatized_ him. Someone had to take his and Goku's place one day to protect this world and help others, and all of their sons had been blessed with the strength and intelligence to do just that through appropriate teaching and reserved encouragement.

Maybe "that creepy Frieza guy" played a role in his parents' reluctance, Trunks thought. Vegeta obviously despised him - the boy sensed his father's white-hot rage immediately- and yet Goku invited that sneering, smooth-talking creature to join Universe Seven's team for the tournament anyway.

Trunks noticed Vegeta had grown more protective and cautious, especially during and after his mother's pregnancy a year earlier. While the boy welcomed this affection, he didn't desire a total trade-off between that and his father's uncompromising support to do his best. But that's how it appeared. Sure, he goofed off and didn't take everything Vegeta said seriously sometimes, but the teen counted on his dad to be what the prince always had been in his eyes: resolute, honorable, disciplined, serious, tough, and _fair_ with him.

Beyond that, he resented Vegeta's fondness for Cabba, the previously unknown Saiyan defense fighter from Universe Six. Trunks understood how much it meant to Vegeta to know other Saiyans existed, and he really wanted to be happy for him… but he couldn't. Not in this circumstance.

Trunks knew during an exhibition match a year before the tournament that Vegeta and Cabba made an intense connection. He watched his father - his _proud_ father- kneel at the seventeen-year-old's feet, telling the youngster to surpass him. This tremendous sign of respect silenced the audience. Vegeta and Goku, who were almost evenly matched as fighters, _never_ did that with each other. But unlike Goku, the Saiyan prince was _a warrior_. Whether Vegeta sensed that spark in Cabba wasn't fully apparent then, but signs were there. Piccolo, the Namekian fighter whose personality resembled Vegeta's, said as much to Goku.

Neither thought Trunks overheard.

After winning their battle, Vegeta triumphantly raised his arms, appearing to thank the heavens for inspiring a _true_ blood brother. His planet had been destroyed during his tumultuous childhood, dissolving part of his soul, and now this passionate young fighter offered evergreen.

Trunks said little to his parents after the match. Had his father been that _lonely_ for this kind of companionship?

Maybe.

He tried to avoid feeling like he did anything wrong considering Vegeta's eagerness to mentor elsewhere. His dad loved him - would kill and die for him - but now the teen recognized that he alone would never measure up to an authentic Saiyan boy.

Now Cabba was visiting Earth to train and bond further with Vegeta. Trunks had his pride too, so he would _not_ compete for _anyone's_ attention - not even his father's. Besides, he had dibs on the first fifteen years of Vegeta's influence, and no one - absolutely no one - could erase that.

"Screw that nerd-boy suck-up Saiyan. He can kick rocks. I want nothing to do with it. Dad will find out how full of shit that guy is eventually."

* * *

Vegeta and Cabba entered the house sweaty from sparring and soaked from the unexpected storm. Their musty odor trailed through the corridor leading to an arboretum filled with his wife Bulma's collection of plants and flowers. She sat on a bench near the middle, reading next to her daughter's crib. She glanced at her watch, tapping on the crystal case, which Vegeta noticed. Small signs of her discomfort rarely escaped his attention, but intuition advised him to postpone further discussion until his mentee departed.

Cabba looked worse for wear from their hellish workout together but still managed to smile. Bulma and Vegeta's one-year-old daughter, Bulla, squealed at their presence. She also had a decent grasp of several words, impressing Cabba. Her walking surprised him less. He wondered how long Vegeta would wait before teaching her to fly.

Worry lines on Bulma's forehead relaxed after they entered, although not enough for Vegeta's concern to decline.

She closed her book. "You two smell rather…ripe. Must have been a good session."

"Hn." Vegeta observed his armpits. "Judging by my aroma on a scale of one to one-hundred, I would give our training a six."

"I disagree," Cabba said, appearing disappointed. "Maybe a sixty, master?"

"In your dreams," Vegeta retorted, scowling, "and no one asked for your opinion, boy. What I say goes. I'll probably be on my deathbed before you reach a perfect score."

"Oh, leave him alone," Bulma said, taking his hand. "You can't fool me, babe. I thought you were giving him a _harder_ time today. Stop holding back."

Vegeta's cheeks flushed. Her simple touch worked effectively to disarm him - nearly every time. He cleared his throat, removing their baby from the crib. Surprised by her father's pungent smelliness, Bulla looked sideways at first. Then her arms extended to push back from his chest. Her parents winked as she quickly reached for her mother.

"Daddy smells atrocious, doesn't he?" Bulma cooed as she sweetly kissed her. "Yes, he does. Yes, he does." Bulla looked back at Vegeta, undoubtedly wondering if her father was upset. He tossed a tiny ball to her, which she caught in one hand.

He nodded. "Good girl. Perfect. We'll work on a lot more soon." Bulla grinned, dropping the toy to clap about her accomplishment.

Cabba admired his teacher's understated warmth with his wife and kids. Vegeta obviously worked hard at it.

"Um, may I hold her for a while, Dr. Brief?"

"No," Vegeta thundered back. "Leave."

"Yes, sir."

Bulma laughed. "Cabba, you've been here for two months now. Stop taking my husband so seriously. Of course you can hold her for as long as you want."

"In fact, take her with you and keep her busy," Vegeta said, handing him a food capsule. "There's a mountain of nutrition snacks in this for you. Open it in the kitchen and don't gorge. Dinner is at eight. We're having dinosaur roast."

"We are?" Bulma asked. "But I thought -"

Vegeta moved in front of her. "Can you stop thinking for once in your life, please?"

"I'm losing patience with your bad attitude," Bulma replied, crossing her arms. "Maybe I don't want dinosaur roast. It's rather heavy for my diet."

Without removing his eyes from her, Vegeta pointed over his left shoulder at Cabba. "Didn't I say leave, boy?"

"Yes, sir." Cabba smiled at Bulla, who eagerly mimicked her father's response. "See you later."

Vegeta and Bulma kissed tenderly after their visitor's exit. Both had looked forward to it.

"Eh, I guess you don't smell that bad anymore."

Vegeta shook his head. "Actually, I do, which means something isn't right on your end. You usually holler at me to shower first."

"What makes you think something is wrong?"

"Honestly, woman. Stop delaying the inevitable. What is it?"

Bulma paused to view her watch again. "Well, I haven't heard from Trunks yet. That's all. But we have to remember that he's fifteen. Teenagers are what they are."

"Earthling teens _are_ what they _are_ ," Vegeta said, "but he's also our son and knows better than to worry us unnecessarily. You roamed forests and learned about the world at his age _with your parents' permission_ \- and shot a gun at Kakarot for entertainment."

Neither spouse mentioned Vegeta's adolescence. He had one _physically_. Having fun was the least of his concerns during that time.

"Yes, Vegeta, and you didn't have to mention Goku. _That_ was an innocent accident."

He laughed. "Right. _Sure it was._ Whatever eases your guilty conscience. OK, so you've tried to reach our son then."

"Chi Chi said he left her place two hours ago. She sent Gohan to look for him after we talked. Goten is staying home."

"What?" Vegeta could barely contain his exasperation. "It only takes thirty minutes to fly here from Mount Paozu at normal speed. Why didn't you message me?"

"Like I said, honey, I figured that -"

"Bulma, _don't_ do this with me. I have a right be concerned. How long has he ignored your wishes about being home on time? What else is he not doing? When I expect him to be around me, he most certainly is."

"A few weeks, I guess. You've been busy too, and it's summertime. Maybe he just feels jealous about the attention Bulla's getting more of now."

Vegeta highly doubted that. The boy adored his sister.

"And you're just now telling me." Sensing Bulma's hurt, he lifted her chin. "Stop making excuses for him. I promise I won't yell when I find him… at first. Does that help?"

"I… don't want you to search. I trust that Gohan will find him. Let them talk first."

"But I am his father! Trunks is even more strong-willed and stubborn at this age. That's won't disappear as he gets older. _He's not like Goten_ \- and I certainly don't need Kakarot's other son to stand in for me. He and his wife have their own toddler to manage."

Bulma sighed at her husband's skeptical defensiveness. "My instincts say our kid needs a substitute big brother today - for whatever reason. Don't be so quick to undervalue Gohan's worth. You know how smart and charming he can be."

"Of course he is - five times more than his buffoon of a father," Vegeta replied, smirking. "No, wait. I've changed my mind. I'll double that sum for good measure."

"Fine then. You agree that we'll wait."

"I haven't agreed to anything, Bulma."

"Vegeta, please -"

He grasped her shoulders. "Look, I know where they are already. Gohan raised his power level to signal me, which means Trunks is also aware. Kakarot's son gets approximately one hour to play amateur counselor with him."

"An hour and a half, maybe?" Bulma batted her eyelids, closing in for another smooch. Her innocent appearance belied the cunning tigress within.

Vegeta tried shaking off his wife's delicate kisses. "Seduction will not work," he said as she licked his lips. "You're… not…not listening. I meant what I said."

Bulma unlaced his exercise shorts. "How about a quickie, hmm?" She dialed a code on a remote to lock the arboretum's front and back entrances. Dark shades descended over the floor-length windows, leaving the couple underneath hazy lights from the ceiling.

Vegeta casually stepped out of his fallen shorts, giving her an enchanting eyeful of his naked physique. "I said no - and we _never_ do quickies."

"Whatever," she purred, removing her shirt. She guided his mouth to her breasts, further rejecting his feeble refusal. "But we also haven't had sex in here since Bulla's birth."

After offering a taste, she took off running through the vegetation. Her now-growling husband chased her down onto a soon-to-be flattened patch of violas, expertly throwing a blanket beneath them before removing her adorably tight tennis shorts.

"You _conniving_ woman. You fight _so_ dirty. I hate you _so much_ right now."

Bulma giggled, realizing that he cornered her near a fragrant tangle of jasmine vines without noticing. Years earlier, they accidentally discovered the blooming white flowers acted as a mild hypnotic and potent aphrodisiac...for any Saiyan who touched them.

"Good." She snatched two small blossoms, crushing them against her husband's abdominals. "Serves you right for showing up half-naked anyway. Shall we continue?"

She did fight dirty.

Feeling increasingly heady, Vegeta stared at the crumbled petals. "You…you didn't." He held Bulma's arms over her head, panting. "You tricked me!"

"No, I just remembered," Bulma teased as his pupils widened. "But you knew the risks of coming anywhere in here, papa bear."

Vegeta freed her as his lingering tension vanished, falling back on his arms. Her silky fingers sent tremors through his body. Intense colors flooded his view, enhancing Bulma's natural beauty. She climbed on top to seize his erect length between her thighs.

She planned to ride this wild stallion long and hard.

"Quickie _my ass_ ," he moaned. "I…I won't forget this."


	2. Gloves Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trunks hasn't made his way home yet. How and when that happens depends on the circumstances.

"I didn't know you had invisible friends, little brother. Can I join the conversation?"

Trunks shrugged, breaking a bundle of twigs within his hand. He felt unready to leave the mountain's cool air and serenity now that the showers had ended, but his fate was sealed.

"Your kid brother does, wise guy. I've tried telling you and your mom for years that something's wrong with him."

Gohan laughed, removing a key from a chain around his neck. He always liked Trunks a lot, including his moments of cheeky defiance - up to a point. From infancy the boy had as much fire in him as Bulma and Vegeta, but usually his heart was in the right place.

"You always enjoyed our old house. Come in." A _mon_ , the Son family's crest, decorated the front of the neatly kept cottage. For years the place offered warmth and bonhomie to all visitors.

Trunks hesitated, bowing his head. "Look, Gohan, I already know I'm in trouble and that dad knows I'm here with you, so there's not much else to be said. I told Goten to stay away on purpose."

Gohan picked up a courageous black beetle trying to scurry between them, throwing it back into the grass. "OK, but don't you find it strange that Vegeta hasn't come anyway? I know from experience that he prefers handing out discipline _exclusively_."

"Perhaps dad has learned the benefits of outsourcing key responsibilities to subordinates in order to pursue more important exploits," Trunks said sarcastically, walking ahead.

Gohan removed a tarp covering a modest dining table. "In other words, you're pissed off about him not having enough time for you?"

"Dude, I just spoke in perfect business jargon," Trunks replied, moving a chair around to seat himself. "Can I get a compliment? That's what I'm being prepared to do, you know? I'm taking over mom's company one day. Isn't _that_ great?"

Gohan frowned. "Cut the crap, Trunks. Are you going to tell me what's really going on?"

"There is no _crap,_ Gohan. Why is it acceptable for my dad to go graveyard-silent into the night like a vampire bat to think about _whatever_ he thinks about regularly and I can't? And please don't say he tells everyone all the time where the hell he is, because he doesn't."

"Little brother, I can't confirm or deny what your father does, but-"

"I just did, and don't give me the _little brother_ treatment!" Trunks face reddened as he pounded the table. "It's patronizing. You're here for my parents' benefit."

"And yours." Gohan reclined in his chair, interlacing his fingers. "You know that. I want you to understand something. Your parents are giving you _a choice_ to blow off steam with me before they step in for discipline. Do you see where I'm going here?"

"No."

"On one side of this chat are you and my kid brother. Vegeta and I are on the other. The nexus is how choice plays out in our lives."

"What do you mean?"

"Just keep that in mind as we're talking. Remember when Vegeta verbally ripped a new hole through _my ass_ about continuing to train, back when I was in high school?"

"Yeah, I do. Dad had me with him in the gravity room for training that day. It's the first time he learned I could go Super Saiyan."

"Really?" Gohan laughed out loud. Trunks' harmless revelation caught him off guard. It all made sense now. "No _wonder_ Vegeta was so cranky then. How long had you waited before telling him?"

Trunks seemed puzzled by his response. "I mean, it's not like I hid the news on purpose, man. I guess I just didn't know how big a deal it was. But dad was surprised - so much so that he almost broke my fucking nose after challenging me to fight in that form."

_I imagine he did,_ Gohan thought. _Lucky for him that's all that crotchety bastard "almost" broke._ He hadn't been that fortunate during certain memorable fights with the prince. But he also knew Vegeta wouldn't hurt his son out of anger - and clearly had held back then. Before Trunks revealed his ascension, Vegeta purposely trained that day at 150 times Earth's gravity to test his son's endurance, not his. Trunks seemed to struggle until his father called their setup "a man's training level" and reminded that Trunks was "still just a child" after the boy declared his desire to fight in an upcoming martial arts tournament.

The tables turned, briefly, when Trunks landed a suitable cheek punch after Vegeta dared him to as a Super Saiyan, provoking a sharper reflex blow than either expected. Trunks tearfully yowled at his flustered dad, who secretly worried _more_ about Bulma's reaction later:

_"You didn't say you'd hit back, dad!"_

_"Well, I didn't say I wouldn't hit you, now did I, Trunks?"_

_"No, but -"_

_"Dry your tears! We're going to the park now. But before we go, you must tell me who is stronger - you or Kakarot's boy?"_

* * *

"Earth to Gohan?" Trunks tapped on the table, ending their lengthy intermission. "You still with me? Something I don't know?"

"You're angry because Cabba is here. I see that now. I'm sorry."

Gohan's talent for unflappably cutting through bluster unsettled people, Trunks included, but not so much with Piccolo or Vegeta. Regardless of whether he continued fighting, his lifetime membership in their brutally memorable fraternity was solid.

Trunks glared. He wouldn't lie, but he couldn't allow anyone to pin him down so easily. Gohan's ostensible pity chastened him. But the teen had misjudged. Pity didn't dictate Gohan's evolving response to his predicament and defensive posture. He knew Trunks too well. The other player's moves continually influence one's strategy.

"Oh, please," Trunks said scornfully. "The tournament is _over_ , man. I know it eats at your insides that you'll _never_ be like my father - or yours. Dad may have given you a hard time way back then, but don't tell me you fooled yourself into believing he ever thought you had the mettle to be great _for the long haul_ , or still can be. Of course not, or he would have -"

Trunks' verbalized venom reminded Gohan of Vegeta, who, when they met, had been as strong and determined as he was insecure and psychologically wounded. Even then, despite their angriest, most ferocious moments together, his heart went out to the Saiyan prince each time the man opened his protective armor, showing his true, vulnerable self. To this day, both would tread through radioactive fallout to save each other.

Vegeta never forgot Gohan's selflessness as a child. For a long time it shamed him. The same person who bitterly called the kindhearted, empathetic boy a "half breed" eventually apologized for that slur and worse offenses. He told Gohan privately that his obsessive, strict devotion to his Saiyan identity kept him alive. Seeing the sum of Goku's good fortune, his instinctive talents and love for family, challenged _everything_ the prince felt - believed- about himself and their origins.

He wondered how Vegeta would react to Trunks' behavior. Everything the teen said expressed his feelings _about himself_. How much would Vegeta tell him about his past now?

"Would have done _what_ , Trunks? If you think I give a damn about your utterly inadequate rhetorical defense, then you're not a smart as I thought you were."

Trunks jumped up, stomping outside. "Leave me _the hell_ alone." He wanted to fly away altogether, but part of their conversation burrowed deep into his mind: "The nexus is how choice plays out in our lives." What did that mean?

Gohan's eyes smoldered as he stood. His wedding ring flew off of his hand, settling on the table. He removed his outer jacket and adjusted his kung fu shoes.

"Your father taught you better than to turn _your back_ on an opponent! And, in this case, I'm not your only one!"

Trunks rubbed his neck, feeling the ozone-laden charge reminiscent of an approaching storm. His shoulders arched, absorbing the aggravating provocation. He wanted to keep the upper hand - although he really never had it - but Gohan's unflinching calmness vanquished the effort. He was a mere journeyman facing down a master.

"Well, Vegeta has been _busy_. And who's my _other_ opponent?"

"Isn't it obvious, Trunks? Stop avoiding the inescapable truth. You are your own worst enemy. _It's you_."

"I know what you're doing!" he said bitterly. "What a _pathetic_ attempt to bait me. It's beneath you - and me. You _forget_ that I am also a prince."

He had taken the bait. Gohan faced two options: reel in this fish or release him into the wild.

"Oh, _that's_ a new line!" he chuckled, further angering Trunks. "My friend, that title is reserved for one who has truly earned it. That ain't you. Not yet."

"Oh, really?" Trunks sneering smile radiated confidence. "That's not for you to decide, _big brother_." He crouched, bending forward at the knee. His rear leg stood straight. "I don't need fusion with Goten to beat the hell out of you."

"I never said you did," Gohan said, moving leisurely toward him, "but I see where Gotenks gets his _pesky_ overconfidence from. Too bad that's still a problem for you, without fusion."

Trunks body crackled with ki, bathing him in golden light. Gohan's front leg slid forward with ease as his left hand extended above the opposite palm. Trunks charged ahead to throw a right punch, which Gohan caught, closely watching his technique. He pitched Trunks aside like a sack of rice, bringing his hand inches below the teenager's skull.

"Let's end this," he said calmly. "I have better things to do than count your nearly broken vertebrae."

Trunks' right foot hit the ground in protest. He angled sideways, driving a brawny energy sphere into Gohan's hand. The sparkling globe shattered at impact.

"Impressive," Gohan said, staring him down. "I would've preferred seeing you stay in base form, though."

Fuming at the taunt, Trunks' left leg angled up for a roundhouse kick, stopping midway before Gohan could block him. He ran circles around his opponent, creating multiple images of himself. The mirages bounced, throwing punches - some real, others imagined. Gohan repelled each blow diving for his arms and chest.

"Ah, the classic afterimage technique." Gohan back-flipped several times, landing effortlessly on his feet. He powered up instantly, matching Trunks' transformation.

"Gloves off," Trunks snarled. Their energy-charged fists collided, stopping him in his tracks.

"So it seems," Gohan said coolly. "So it seems."

* * *

_What do they think they're doing?_ Vegeta's eyebrows knitted as Bulma rested comfortably within his arms. They were well past an hour after their lovemaking began, and although both were pleased, his overactive mind buzzed like a hornet's nest.

Bulma raised up, touching his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, other than our son isn't here yet." Vegeta rubbed his forehead to concentrate. "Let's get our clothes. We've rolled around in the flowers long enough."

"Oh, I know what this is. Don't tell me you're actually _worried_ about those two fighting, if that's what you think they're doing. Didn't you expect it?"

He cut his eyes at her. "No, I'm not _worried_ , but Gohan is taking longer than necessary to end the match. They both know he's stronger, but Trunks is pissed off and now his ki is all over the place. He's not going to stop."

Bulma held his hand, kissing him. "Listen, you _cannot_ go there. Do you understand me? You can't. The last thing our son needs is his big, strong daddy to come save him."

"I always have let him fight his own fights."

"Uh huh." Bulma slapped his calf as he stood. "Most of the time."

"Saving him isn't a consideration." Shaking his head, Vegeta draped his naked wife over his right shoulder, firmly holding her legs down. "Besides, I suspect Trunks started the fight anyway."

Bulma's fists pummeled his back. "Put me down! I walk just fine, you know!"

"Not when you're determined to derail my plans," he said, caressing her moistened clit until its wetness drenched his fingers. "Here's my incentive not to anymore." He grunted with smug satisfaction as her body bucked from the stimulation.

Feeling his fingers push deeper inside of her, Bulma exhaled. "I hate you - so much."

"Back at you."

He knew the source of Trunks' sullenness. He couldn't let the problem fester further, not with his wife feeling hurt over their son's estrangement. He mistakenly believed Trunks would come to him, as the boy typically did with other concerns. He didn't want to push his son into a corner, leading to a shutdown neither wanted. But it happened anyway. He would not send Cabba away earlier than planned, though. That would be rewarding Trunks' inappropriate behavior.

An all-too-familiar weariness weighed on him.

_Maybe it's time for him to know more._

His eyes closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trunks, I think, is upset because he seeing more of his dad as a whole person. He can't idealize Vegeta anymore because he's nearing adulthood himself. Vegeta is incredibly tough, but as someone who overcame numerous obstacles to be a good father, the adjustment might be harder to accept. His personal history makes the situation that much more difficult.


	3. A  Man's War With Himself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trunks is fighting his way through Gohan's attempts to share wisdom. Meanwhile, Bulma and Vegeta mull what's at stake when they eventually talk with their son.

Trunks attempted a foot-sweep kick that Gohan turned backward, flipping him overhead. He pivoted, spinning into an explosive reverse side kick before Trunks could land another ki-fueled punch. He sped behind him, sliding his right arm underneath Trunks' jaw into a naked choke hold.

His teeth clenched. "What happened?! _You said you wanted this, boy_. Well, you got it! Yeah, you talked real big earlier. You have _no idea_ about what I've seen. I was much younger than you, Trunks, when the luxury of choice was _stripped_ _bare_ from me. You have had that gift your entire life. _That's what I meant_. Don't _ever_ take that for granted."

" _Please_." Confused and a bit fearful, Trunks gasped as Gohan's grip tightened. He couldn't break free for a targeted energy strike, but he had to find an alternative fast.

Gohan's lips curled inward. "You _dare_ to beg this uppity commoner for mercy, little prince?" His left bicep pushed Trunks' skull further into the headlock. "What was that word you used? Oh, yes! Who's the _pathetic_ one now?"

Trunks hadn't seen this side of him before. Determined, yes, but not unapologetically ruthless. He recognized the ravenous look in the man's eyes, though. This is what Vegeta must have seen. His consciousness conjured a passionless image of the Saiyan prince as his air supply dwindled. There was no escape.

His eyelids wilted as Vegeta's image faded. "Dad? Dad, wait..."

"Assume _nothing_ \- got that?" Gohan wiped saliva from his mouth, dropping him on the ground. "I owe _no one_ any explanation about my decisions - including my father or yours, or even Piccolo, who trained me first, and _definitely_ not you."

Trunks rose on one knee, coughing, before slumping forward on his hands. Gohan's arm extended after they returned to their natural states, offering to steady him.

"Come on, kid. Take my hand."

"I'm…not sure about that," Trunks said, eyeing him suspiciously. "What in…in the hell was _that_ about, man?"

"You know what it was." Gohan said, helping him up. "You overplayed your hand. You knew what you were getting into. Furthermore, none of your anger has anything to do with me."

"Maybe it does now." Trunks crossed his arms, still wary of Gohan's state of mind. "Your anger - or whatever the hell that episode was - has nothing to do with me either."

"You said 'gloves off'," Gohan replied, nodding toward the cottage. "I merely obliged. Your footwork tells me you're practicing elsewhere without raising your power levels. Why are you so resistant to training with your dad and Cabba then? What do you fear?"

"I'm not afraid of anything," Trunks snapped. "Maybe I don't want anyone meddling. I'm also not revealing my trainer to you."

Gohan inhaled, praying that his daughter would be less moody when she reached Trunks' age. "Look, you have to get home soon and so do I, but just hear me out a while longer."

"OK." Trunks flew behind, stopping in front of house. "What?"

Gohan's hands straddled the porch's support beams after landing. Tapping into that emotional maelstrom still unsettled him at times - a remnant from life's trials that would linger indefinitely - but his implicit argument had been made. He had far more control of himself than Trunks' realized before their sparring ended, actually.

"Trunks, parents face difficult choices about their desires for their children. Many would love for them to follow in their steps, of course, but certain risks can derail the best of intentions. I know from personal familiarity."

"What are you getting at?" Annoyed once again, Trunks threw his hands up to the skies. "You just stomped all over my ass like a rabid madman to prep me for a freshman-year lesson in psychology? Unbelievable!"

Gohan's steely muteness conveyed enough gravitas to silence him. It was no invitation to battle again. The wind seemed to whisper in agreement. "Now that you're older, maybe Vegeta doesn't want you to see yourself a means to an end for his desires _alone_. Perhaps… he had a history of being used in that way by others."

Trunks' eyes radiated skepticism. "Dad had no problem pushing me competitively when I was only just out of diapers, particularly with Goten. We kicked ass, too."

"Stop acting like I have no memory," Gohan scolded. "All I can say is situations change. Vegeta knows your potential and believes in you - all of you - and… he still struggles with himself. Saiyan culture had rigid standards for behavior and performance. You can see that."

"As if that last part has _ever_ been a problem," Trunks huffed. "It's his oxygen."

"Mostly. So imagine having nothing but your own strength and pride - and whatever self-confidence you can muster - to carry you through life. Step away from seeing your dad as just your dad for a while. Try to empathize with a man who lost everything, shouting into a dark, lonely void for recognition for years. Then he fell in love with your mother, and then they had you. Now, through Cabba, another part of himself has been renewed. He's positioned to give much differently than ever before."

"Stop." Trunks wiped his face, feeling ashamed. He rarely teared up in front of anyone. "Dad just looks so…pleased about this guy. I'd rather see him cooing like a total idiot over my sister. I mean, he's tried including me in what they're doing at times, but I'm not a fucking charity case. It's… just hard."

Gohan weighed whether he said more than necessary, but he decided to trust where his senses led him. "I know it is. Understand, I'm not saying this for you to feel guilty. Just try to cut your dad a break, for all of us. Cabba's a good guy. I also know Vegeta is joyfully _breaking his balls_ every day - with a satisfied scowl. Take some perverse pleasure in that."

Trunks laughed, pounding fists with him. "Yeah, I can do that."

"Apologize to your mom first," Gohan replied, launching skyward. "I'm out of here."

Trunks grabbed his shoulder bag to find smartwatch. No one immediately picked up his call, likely a bad omen, but he left a message anyway.

"Hey, uh, mom. I'm on my way back. I know it's late. I'm sorry. I love you."

"That's a good start…for your mother's peace of mind."

Trunks cringed. The gruff voice behind him paused, awaiting a proper answer, but he didn't have a stellar one. "Damn. I didn't really expect you to show up just yet."

"I'm not so sure about that," Vegeta said, nodding at Goku. "I think you wanted me here all along."

"Hi, Trunks!" Goku said with his normally breezy friendliness. "Goten said he was kind of slightly worried, but Chi Chi and I said you would be all right."

Although irritated, the prince reminded himself to lower his expectations. Goku's thoughts often traveled a winding road, or maybe several forked ones. Vegeta had just as much of an imagination as anyone - although, even now, he felt uncomfortable showing much of that side to anyone except Bulma - but his thinking could be parametric. He defined the curves and surfaces analytically, whereas his Saiyan brother and friend felt them.

"OK, Kakarot," he interrupted, grasping his shoulder. "Enough with the small talk. Do your teleportation trick and get us the hell out of here."

Goku smiled, moving fingers to his temple. "Glad to be of service. But before we go, how was the fight, Trunks? I had a hard time staying away."

"Heh." Vegeta surveyed his son's scruffy appearance. "Do you want to tell him directly or shall Kakarot and I debate every detail we sensed on our own?"

Trunks put up a decent fight, but, as his father thought, diffuse anger weakened his focus. He didn't look at either man. "Can we just go now, please?"

It took less than twenty seconds before they appeared in the Brief family's aromatic kitchen. Goku smelled meat, licking his lips.

"No," Vegeta said. "You can't stay for dinner. Go home."

"Aw, Vegeta!" Goku whined. "That's not fair at all."

Trunks' less-than-eager appetite disappeared altogether as Cabba entered the kitchen carrying the baby. Bulma entered behind them, smiling and relieved.

"Are you OK, honey?"

"Yeah." Trunks' feet shuffled away from Vegeta and Goku to address her. "Did you get my message?"

"I did," Bulma replied, kissing his cheek. "Dinner is almost ready. Oh, Goku, do you want to stay too?"

"Nope," Vegeta interjected. "He has some wood to chop or something like that."

"I do not!" Goku shouted. "You can be so mean sometimes."

"Most of the time," Bulma said, laughing. "Be nice, darling. We must give abundantly."

Vegeta opened the meat-roasting and carving room, offering an exaggerated bow. "Use the protective covering. You only get one. Nothing more."

"You're the best." Goku pumped his fist in the air. "Both of you."

"Stop loitering," Vegeta ordered, keeping an eye on his son. "You're delaying my dinner too, clown."

Trunks walked up to Cabba with his arms outstretched. "Give me my sister. Now."

"Sure," Cabba said affably. Bulla wriggled and whimpered slightly, seeming hesitant. Her fists clutched the young Saiyan's shirt. Her brother had removed his top to avoid getting dirt on her, but Bulla didn't know what to make of the strange energy coming off of him.

Trunks' eyes and mouth hardened. No more rejections tonight. He had to leave.

Goku stepped in, seeing that this unfortunate development might be a flash point. "Hey, Trunks, can you help me pick one of these roasts? I really need your help."

"That would be a no," he replied, walking out. "Let Cabba show you the ropes since he's eating us out of house and home anyway."

Furious, Vegeta started to follow. Goku and Bulma touched him on both sides. Cabba quickly stepped in front, handing him the baby as a diversion.

"Master Vegeta, perhaps a delay is in order until _after_ we eat. We all have had a long day. Trunks felt offended and hurt. I can understand that."

Bulla rested on Vegeta's chest, disarming his aroused temper. He caressed her head, hoping to soothe her lingering discomfort. "You know what? I need the three of you to let me handle this _my way_. Trunks doesn't need coddling. The issue bothering him is on full display. He has disrespected all four of us now and shamed himself, though he hasn't realized it yet."

Yes, he was angry, but didn't any of them realize that he also felt Trunks' pain? No amount of his son fighting elsewhere would fix this. The two were overdue for an extended argument. The way they argued, however, would make all the difference.

Bulma tapped Goku's arm. "Get your food and take it home, big guy. Cabba, don't wait any longer to eat. I need to speak with my husband alone. We may see you in the dining room later."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Bye, Bulma."

She took Bulla from Vegeta, moving to their rear deck. "Let me do it. Gohan had his turn. Our kid looks softened up to take another round."

"No, Bulma. No amount of sexy cajoling will change my mind this time."

"All right. Let me say this another way. I am doing it, and you will stay away until we finish. Cabba is one-hundred percent correct. You're more edgy because you're hungry."

"Seriously?! That is a poor excuse for a defense. Do you remember what my life was like before we met? I could go for days without eating - even with my high metabolism - and consume just about anything to stay alive if necessary."

Bulma shivered thinking about that frightening image. "Stop trying to make me retch. See what I mean about your high drama?"

Vegeta turned his back, closely listening to Bulla's pre-sleeping exhalations. Frieza's multiple reappearances finally had tripped an anxiety trigger. Why couldn't that fucking psychopath just stay _dead?_ Why did he receive so many chances when both mortals and deities Vegeta knew that monster would never, ever change?

Maybe they didn't know. Maybe they thought Frieza would end up living a productive life one day - like him.

As the fighters gathered at his home to depart for the tournament a year earlier, he noticed Frieza curiously eyeing his family like lab specimens - Trunks, especially. Acidic bile rose in his throat seeing it. Clearly, that beast was fascinated that the prince had a wife and children who appeared _content._ The reaction not only reeked of contempt, but of jealousy. Insultingly, Frieza still regarded him as his property. No amount of blood-stained repayment would ever make up for "that uppity monkey's betrayal."

Piccolo and Gohan also sensed the chilling sentiment. They wouldn't have blamed the Saiyan prince for attempting to kill him on the spot after the competition ended.

Vegeta was at the top of his game as a fighter then, more controlled than ever, but it took the best of himself not to fly into blind rage after Trunks asked if he was OK. His son - his good, smart, funny, strong boy - hadn't appeared that worried in a long time. Bulma's levelheadedness, delivered with a loving touch, settled his spirit through that tortuous moment. He set a good example…that day.

* * *

"I won't coddle him, honey. Trunks needs another approach first before you broach a broader talk that will be a pain in the ass for you both. It was my mistake that I held back dealing with him on my own."

"You still don't understand, Bulma. This is more than about Cabba."

Bulma nodded. "I know that too. I can't stand seeing you tie yourself in knots any longer…over Frieza. Just because we haven't spoken much about what happened doesn't mean I'm indifferent. The situation has worn on you."

"I'm fine."

"No, Vegeta. No, you're not. You haven't been since the tournament - not since that brute left Earth. I wish his life had not been restored, despite his self-serving contribution to the team's success. But that's beyond our control. Regardless, having Cabba here has been good for you - and Bulla, of course - perhaps therapeutic, even."

"Well, Trunks has a different opinion, obviously."

Bulma put the petite girl down, who walked perfectly beside her father, tapping his leg. "Daddy, hug now? I'm sorry. Food?"

Her mother smiled, knowing she had bested her husband again. "This is the first time she's spoken all day. I suppose she had been saving it for you."

Vegeta took their daughter's hand, looking daggers at his wife. _"I am tiring of your deceitful fighting,"_ he replied telepathically. _"This is unfair, using our daughter like this. Cabba is in my crosshairs for doing that earlier, too."_  
  
"I'll see you later," she said, happily waving at them. "Make sure daddy eats a lot, Bulla."

Guessing that Trunks wasn't in his bedroom, she sprinted outside, hopping on her air scooter. Evening lamps illumined the locked robotic training chamber. She touched her watch, opening communication with the inside.

"I may not be able to get in, mister, but I guarantee it might be lethal if you try to leave without speaking with me. I hope that apology was sincere. Decide your fate."

The door hissed its invitation for entry, extending a robotic arm to hand over Bulma's lab coat. Lights brightened her path deeper into the vault-like structure until she reached the center. Trunks sat in a distant corner, hugging his knees.

"My apology to you was sincere. I have acted like a jerk to you."

"You don't say?" Bulma's voice echoed. "Good to know. So what about your dad? I won't bother to ask about Cabba, since your disdain for him is rudely evident."

Trunks shrugged. "So _what about_ dad?"

"OK, son, let's set some ground rules. I am Vegeta's _wife_. We definitely have had our struggles together, but I am extremely protective of him - maybe more than any time I've ever been in life. I'm not choosing between you - not because of this problem."

"Fine," Trunks sulked. "Sorry."

Bulma waved at him. "I'm going to the observation space. I tinkered with a few shooter bots yesterday. We can talk while you test them out down here. Surely you can concentrate while doing both. Your dad does a decent job talking a lot of shit while he fights."

"Decent, you say?" Trunks laughed at her low-key depiction. "Dad is straight _gangster_ \- like original gangster. Also, I'm done scrapping with anything that can kill me tonight."

"That's a relief. Come up with me anyway. I have something to show you."

A monitor screen on the left side of the room flickered as they entered. Bulma stood behind Trunks with her hands in her pockets.

"So what wisdom did Gohan share, hon?"

"Well, before beating the shit out me, he basically said I should give dad a break. Then he said that in a different way, after beating the shit out of me."

Bulma laughed. "I guess you're still debating his advice then."

Trunks rolled his eyes. "Mom, you said you had to show me something, yes?"

Bulma held her sunny smile long enough to steel herself for the next step. She leaned over the control panel. Her breathing seemed strained, immediately capturing Trunks' attention.

He took her hand, feeling her blood pressure spike and fall. "Hey, you look pale. Look, maybe we should eat, or maybe I should get dad? He's probably coming over anyway. You're still breastfeeding and stuff. You really need almost as much food as we do."

"No, no, no, hon," Bulma said, straightening herself to operate the control panel. "I'm all right. Andromeda, please run video Alpha 87795 Omicron."

"Replay activated, Dr. Brief."

Trunks stood back as the screen showed an older version of the gravity-and-robotic-training chamber. Fire-engine-red lighting filled the interior. A younger Bulma stood watching his father train from the observation deck, appearing terrified and angry. Vegeta's moves were magnificent, as always, but he also looked like a battered, _insane_ maniac - almost as if he were trying to kill himself, not merely testing his limits.

Was he trying to kill himself?

Mortals like Goku, Piccolo and the Saiyan prince always entered battle prepared to die - Trunks had accepted this reality, more or less - but this was different. His father's eyes looked vacant… lost.

"Mom, what is this?"

"Your dad's war with himself," Bulma said, hugging his waist. "After that, I couldn't be a bystander anymore."

* * *

 **Notes:** Thanks to everyone who left me with a giant bag of food-for-thought for this current chapter. I had so much to work with after reading your comments afterward. Let me know what you think! 


	4. Pieces of His Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma has taken the lead to share difficult family secrets with Trunks. Vegeta reflects.

_Such innocence. Not a care in the world now, just like your brother had been. What a fool I was back then, but I hated myself. He has no idea how much I did. Even in death, Frieza almost got everything he wanted out of me._  
  
Full of joy, Bulla played on the floor next to her father. Vegeta picked at the food he had been so eager to consume earlier. His normally voracious appetite vanished, but watching his toddler kept him from losing himself in an undertow of brooding.  
  
"Master, are you all right? Did I do something wrong?"  
  
Bulla threw her stuffed toy when Vegeta didn't respond immediately to Cabba's question, perhaps to redirect her father's attention.  
  
That's her mother's influence, he thought.   
  
"I heard him, princess." He brought her to his lap after pushing his plate aside. "Cabba, your empathy for others is an honorable attribute, but for gods' sake, be sensible."  
  
Baffled, Cabba wiped his mouth. Vegeta's focus _on him_ meant that he should be prepared for anything. "Did I…I… say something wrong?"  
  
"See, _that's_ what I mean," Vegeta's hardened gaze bored into his student's eyes. "Not once have I said that you did anything wrong -- within the last, say, two hours. I'm not a quitter, but I'm growing impatient with teaching this lesson. Modesty _shouldn't_ outweigh your self-respect. And whenever I'm wrong, you _must_ challenge me! I'll continue being hard on you regardless, because you asked that of me."  
  
Cabba stayed silent, returning the prince's pensive stare with equanimity.   
  
Vegeta pinched the bridge of his nose, looking down. "When we first met, I kicked your ass in every way I could because I suspected you had the balls to take my drubbing like a _true_ Saiyan warrior _should_ \-- and you did. Now I expect you _to keep_ those balls, or else I might just remove them altogether. Why give that pleasure to someone unworthy?"  
  
Cabba calmly leaned back, further considering his response. A slim smirk crossed over his lips. He finally gave himself permission to have some fun at his teacher's expense. He dropped on one knee, clasping his hands.  
  
"Is that threat meant literally or figuratively, _my lord_?"  
  
Vegeta's meaty fingers spread like stalking spiders along the table's edge. "You _dare_ to mock _me_ in my home, while you eat _my food_? How about I end your chances for having children right now? You would make a perfect _eunuch_ for my wife."  
  
"Not at all," Cabba replied as his prankish grin broadened. "I'm merely following your sage advice about being assertive. You and Bulma have reinforced this valuable lesson. Now then, is my response _suitable_ enough for your standards?"  
  
Vegeta's voice lowered as Bulla energetically grasped his shirt. She wanted him to get a feeding bottle from a small warmer behind Cabba's chair. He shook his head, silently advising his student not to hand one over.  
  
"If you think being a smart ass is exclusively tied to assertiveness, then you're in for the mother of all thrashings," he continued. "You obviously aren't ready to back up your pathetic hassling of me with a _winning_ strategy. Gods, I feel like I'm talking with my son."  
  
"You do?" Cabba's face beamed. He knew he'd catch hell from Vegeta later, but no matter. "I am honored to hear that."  
  
"Well, we both know Trunks won't feel similarly, so keep my offhand comment to yourself whenever he's around. Get that idiotic look off of your face, too."  
  
"Yes, sir." Cabba returned to eating. Vegeta didn't, which concerned him. He wanted to discuss Trunks further. He knew he couldn't though, recognizing that adolescent jealousy wasn't the only strain on the father and son's relationship.   
  
"Daddy!!!"  
  
Vegeta eyed his fidgety daughter, who climbed up to face him. "What can I do for you? I am in the middle of a conversation." He spoke evenly, anticipating her emerging demand.  
  
Bulla's left hand laid firmly on his chest. The other pointed at the warmer. Cabba stopped chewing, mulling over Vegeta's response until he concluded that his teacher wanted the girl to summon a feeding bottle without help.  
  
Bulla simply was too young for telekinesis, he thought. Unless they were prodigies, no Saiyan child grasped that skill suitably until about the fourth or fifth year of life. His feisty friend Caulifla, who fought beside him during the universal tournament of power, had been an exception. He looked forward to seeing her after returning to their planet.   
  
Realizing that Vegeta had no plans to budge, Bulla's baby-blue eyes tightened. All traces of her smile evaporated. She groaned, pounding her tiny fist on his shoulder.  
  
"You have choices," her father said, raising his left index finger. A bottle took flight from the warmer, hovering over Cabba's head.  
  
Bulla felt a small jolt. She could stay in daddy's arms -- where she wanted to be -- have him release her, or try to imitate him. She stared as he lowered the bottle back into the warmer. Her right hand extended, shaking the machine enough for both men to notice.  
  
"That's it?" Vegeta cocked his head. "You must not be _that_ hungry then. I knew it."  
  
Bulla's eyes watered from frustration. Her high cheekbones glowed pink. Bracing for a sulfurous, enraged scream, Cabba stood. Instead, the bottle levitated, slowly moving past him. Vegeta's eyebrows arched, expecting more. His daughter's concentration broke after noticing his reaction. The falling bottle quickly swooped into his hand as she watched.   
  
Cabba applauded. "Amazing."  
  
"An adequate start," Vegeta said as Bulla grabbed her prize. "She's well aware that I caught it for her, which is why she's not chatty -- because why admit it now? I guarantee she won't let this happen too much longer. Will you, princess?"  
  
Bulla didn't smile as she resettled into her father's lap.   
  
Cabba laughed, reseating himself. "I see. I'm sure you mastered the skill at her age."  
  
"Perhaps I would have," Vegeta said, recalling his past, "but I was in an incubator from infancy until about my third year. I had no choice but to learn as soon as I came out."  
  
"Wait." Cabba's mouth dropped open. "What? You spent _three years_ in an incubator?"  
  
Feeling tired, Vegeta rubbed his eyes. At this point he didn't have much to lose sharing details such as these. He knew intrinsically that Cabba wouldn't hound him.  
  
"The novelty of my existence will wear off eventually for you, kid. Our cultures have many similarities. My personality is living proof of their _vast_ differences. My mind unearths and crosses extremes that most mortals I've encountered will never fully understand -- or want to, in many cases, I believe."  
  
Cabba hadn't expected this. Over time, the prince shared stories about his life on Earth as well as snippets about space travel. None revealed the ugliest hardships from his past beyond Planet Vegeta's destruction. Vegeta never said what caused it. Cabba wasn't sure if he wanted to know anyhow. Curiosity meant less to him at this moment than having his teacher's trust.  
  
"Saiyans on my planet were bred and trained for maximum efficiency, Cabba. They took great pride in their roughened way of living, as imperfect as it was. That influence at an early age made me what I am -- and kept me alive. But through trial and error, I learned that part of me will never be _all_ that I am."  
  
"Master, I --"  
  
Observing Bulla's sleepiness, Vegeta raised his fingers. "I'm not in the mood to say more, except that you mustn't put anyone on pedestals. Especially not me. You won't achieve your full potential -- as a fighter or as a man -- by engaging in hero worship. Got it?"   
  
Cabba nodded. "I do."  
  
"Tomorrow you will visit with Roshi, Kakarot's childhood teacher, because you didn't see him fight up close at the tournament. He's a lecherous degenerate… and one of Earth's finest martial artists. I had planned to be there, but… I need to be alone with my son."  
  
"I understand. Good night, master."  
  
Vegeta gently placed Bulla on his shoulder, wondering when Bulma would return. He would probably be asleep by the time she did.

* * *

Bulla slept soundly beside her father on a pillow larger than the length of her body. A lamp on a nightstand next to the bed shined over Vegeta. He held a photo of his smiling wife with their newborn daughter. Bulma looked thoroughly exhausted after giving birth and breathtakingly beautiful. Trunks stood beside her, touching the baby's tuft of hair.

Three pieces of his soul that gave his life meaning.

* * *

Trunks had lost his appetite. He didn't push his mother's affectionate embrace away this time. He couldn't. His subconscious mind longed for the comfort, intuitively preparing for hard, fulminant blows.  
  
After giving him another squeeze, Bulma whispered, "Sweetheart, I'm going to turn this off now."  
  
"No, don't." Trunks turned around, holding her hand. "You can't just show me something like that and shut it down. What do you mean dad was at war with himself?"  
  
"This, my darling, is why Gohan asked you to cut your dad some slack, because he met _this man_ first. This man arrived on Earth an angry, bitter, and single-minded. The last thing he desired was a life here or attachments -- for many reasons. Developing feelings for each other surprised both of us. It scared the hell out of him. Pissed him off too."  
  
Trunks backed away from her. "I don’t think I want to hear anymore."  
  
"Well, son, this isn't a summertime carnival for me either. Be glad I'm not hugging on a wine bottle for liquid courage."  
  
Trunks' solemn eyes briefly glanced at the screen again. "How about we share one then?"  
  
Bulma frowned, patting his cheek. Her firm touch struck the right balance between motherly warmth and straightforward warning. "Do yourself a favor, kid. If any alcohol touched your lips this past year, just lie to me right now. I would prefer keeping our family's angst focused tonight."  
  
"I haven't had any, mom -- like ever -- and probably never will. That's not something I'd lie about. Dad already said the smell lingers much longer on Saiyans, even after bathing."  
  
"Which is why he doesn't drink much. He's much more comfortable with normal post-workout body odor. Lucky me! I think I'm down to my last nose hairs. The rest have died."  
  
Trunks stared up at the ceiling lights. "I'm fifteen. My brain is still maturing. I have lots of time left to piss him off in a thousand other ways besides getting hammered on booze."  
  
"True." Bulma threw a capsule on the ground, unveiling a small table stocked with munchies. "Just like today. I know you enjoy being creative."  
  
"You know I'm not hungry."  
  
"Bullshit."  
  
"Mom, come on!" Trunks pivoted, pointing at the screen. "You can't just…just… do something like this and expect me eat!"  
  
"Fine then." Bulma opened a box of protein bars, taking one for herself. "Honey, you are having some serious growing pains, and it's happened rather quickly. Your dad knows this. He's trying to figure things out too. Getting older is hard."  
  
"So that's why he's playing dollhouse with cabbage-patch head? So he can lay bricks for a new and improved, _pure_ Saiyan kingdom? Believe me, there is no FOMO with that part."  
  
"Damn it!" Bulma hurled her half-eaten snack on the floor. "You are out of line! Don't you ever -- and I mean _ever_ \-- say something so awful like that to me again! I bet your ass you _would_ have some fear of missing out. I know you're feeling hurt, and I don't want to take away from that --"  
  
Trunks folded his arms. "But what, mom?"  
  
"And _\--"_  
  
" _And_ , so finish what you started! You just said he didn't want to be here at first. What else? You certainly made a big deal about his heritage when I was younger too. Is there some huge cover-up there too?"  
  
"What I said then wasn't apocryphal," Bulma replied, sighing. "I made a big deal because it was important for your bond with him -- and don't tell me you suddenly stopped caring about its importance to Vegeta. Also, your dad has _nothing else_ to prove about calling Earth his home. We're all still alive, aren't we?"  
  
Trunks felt another surge of shame. He deserved every ounce of his mother's chewing out. He wanted to get past this, and her sincerity deserved greater respect.  
  
"Mom, it's…just that he hasn't been the same since the tournament. You were both acting weird before."  
  
"I know. I know. Vegeta can handle a lot, but he gets shaken too. It's his nature to try to shield you from that. Being Saiyan influences that mindset tenfold. But it seems like the stakes get higher each time he's called on. He's a fighter at heart, but he would lose his mind if any of us were seriously hurt. He has so much more to lose now, honey."  
  
Bulma reached for her first born's hands, kissing them. Trunks embraced her. Hearing his mom describe Vegeta as "shaken" sounded foreign. Not his father. Not the blood-and-dirt-caked man he and Goten watched battle Majin Buu single-handedly.  
  
He paused, meeting Bulma's pained gaze. "I know he gets upset and stuff --"  
  
"It's Frieza," she murmured, shutting her eyes.   
  
"What…what about that guy?"  
  
Hugging him tighter, Bulma brushed Trunks' hair back. "Son, Frieza destroyed Vegeta's home planet when your dad was a young boy and, before it happened, murdered your grandfather in cold blood. It was a genocide, not a wartime act."  
  
"Oh, gods, no." Trunks' stomach soured. He thought about Gohan's last words to him. "And what happened with dad?"  
  
Bulma felt her wedding ring. She had to leave out certain details for now. Some particulars could never be shared. She and Vegeta would figure out the rest.  
  
"Just know your father can't rest well as long as he considers Frieza a threat. I would gladly ram a hot rod through that vainglorious rat-bastard's skull if I could." 

* * *

**Notes:** So how did Mama Bulma do this time?Had some stuff stressing me out lately, but my mojo is holding on. Hope you enjoy it. Please take a moment to leave a comment if you can, and thanks!   



	5. We're All We Have

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Puzzle pieces are laid bare.

Vegeta moved Bulla to her crib about an hour before Bulma returned their bedroom. Her absence offered enough time to weigh what she likely said to Trunks. He covered his face before falling asleep, giving up any semblance of coherent thought. His subconscious went dark, thankfully, instead of conjuring illusory demons to disturb his dreams.

Bulma sat on the bed, leaning over to kiss his forehead. His right arm sprawled across the pillows where she usually slept. He stirred from her light touch, yawning.

"Go back to sleep," she said softly, moving next to him. "It's OK."

"Hm." His arm draped over her waist. "Don't tell me what to do, woman."

Bulma's barely audible laugh provoked a tighter hold. "Too late, jerk."

Feeling himself drifting back to sleep, Vegeta kissed her shoulder. "How…is he?

She fingered his tousled mane. The stimulation almost always amplified his drowsiness, which was her goal. His breathing slackened, but he wouldn't give up the inquiry yet.

"Bulma?"

"He's taking it all in, Vegeta."

"What does that mean?"

"It means you're grabbing the reins on that stubborn horse after you both have enough rest and a hearty Saiyan breakfast. I told Trunks to sleep-in as long as he needs to, though. I must rest now too. You're not the one breastfeeding, remember?"

He reached for her nipples, tickling them. "Your breasts are -"

"Oh, no you don't." She gripped his lips, pushing him back. "Be silent, you rogue."

Vegeta turned over, offering a faint smile. "Fine then. Your loss." He soon returned to sleep, feeling more at ease having her there.

About a year before Bulma's pregnancy, when he and Goku left Earth to train for a few months, Vegeta didn't speak of her the entire time. His absence offered time for meditation on their relationship. Despite their closeness, part of his spirit remained impenetrable to her. He had to figure out why, especially after the once-unthinkable idea of having another child entered his mind. If Bulma sensed any uncertainty on his part, she wouldn't agree to it - and would be well within her right to, given their past.

After intense soul-searching, he admitted that his courageousness stumbled at fully accepting happiness. He was beyond grateful to have his life and family, and did not feel empty anymore, and yet he still struggled with whether any of this was meant for him. He also felt ashamed. Bulma hadn't given him any reason to doubt her devotion. But he couldn't allow insecurity to shackle him further. The woman he loved deserved no less than unfettered openness. He returned to Earth ready to complete the cycle, launching the next exciting stage of their journey together.

He humbly washed Bulma's feet the night he arrived, saying nothing. She sobbed, understanding his intention implicitly. His pride would never stand between them anymore, in any way.

He couldn't imagine not having this dynamic woman by his side. Never again.

* * *

Trunks staggered into the kitchen bleary-eyed and hungry. No one greeted him, except for food covering a counter and the dining table. He realized that he was the only person in the house. That didn't mean everyone had abandoned the estate though.

"This is kind of nice."

His smartwatch chirped, displaying Goten's smiling picture. His friend's buoyant attitude toward the world hadn't diverged much from Goku's, although he cursed more. The teen's mom blamed _that_ outcome on the entire Brief family.

"Hey, man! It's about time you answered you damn phone. I heard my brother handed your ass to you yesterday."

After removing his watch, Trunks retrieved several pieces of dinosaur roast. Goten's hologram appeared on the other side of the table.

" _Heard_ , my ass. You felt it, just like our dads did, and so what? You were too cowardly to come help me anyway."

Goten laughed, sitting cross-legged in a grassy knoll not far from his home. "Call me names all you want. Doesn't bother me one bit. Anyway, did that little _exercise_ remove the bug up your butt about whatever's bothering you?"

Trunks' eyes briefly glanced up at the hologram. Goten's broad smile relaxed at his friend's reticence.

"You know what's bothering me, idiot - and, yeah, it helped."

Goten scratched the back of his head - another one of Goku's unconscious habits - wondering how far to push this discussion. "So…"

"Goten, look, we can talk about _anything else_ besides what I've bitched about since Cabba got here. Just about everyone _except him_ has called me out for being 'Johnny One Note' about this arrangement."

"OK, fine, but I know there's something else. You're eating slower than normally."

Trunks waved off his friend's concern. "Because I'm trying not to be rude or spit crumbs all over my new watch."

"All right. You win. I'll change the subject. So when are you training with Master Roshi again? Dad is seeing him today. Want to sneak up on them?"

"There is no sneaking up when your dad is around, dude."

"Not true! Have you forgotten what _Uncle Vegeta_ says _all_ the time? That dad sometimes gets too comfortable with his surroundings and power? Even I agree on that."

Genuinely entertained by Goten's frankness, Trunks replied, "Have you told _Uncle Goku_ your thoughts?"

"Heh." Goten chuckled thinking about how his father would react. "Why should I become 'Johnny One Note' when Vegeta has had that privilege for, like, two decades? He won't give that up without a fight. It's not worth it!"

"Touche!" Trunks raised his enormous glass of apple juice, toasting the boy's wit. "Look, I need to finish eating. Thanks for checking on me. I'm all right."

"Not really, but you will be." Goten raised his fingers, giving him the peace sign. "I'm always here if you need to talk, brother."

"I know. We'll catch up later, brother. I promise."

"One last thing, and I'm going to be mushy. I know Vegeta can be a special kind of crazy sometimes, but even my mom says he's worked really hard to be a good dad."

Of course he has, Trunks thought. Then he remembered Bulma's comments. But he had no memory of Vegeta _not_ being a good parent to him. He gave his dad a pass for not being glaringly affectionate at first because Vegeta always made time for him, training and teaching lessons about resilience.

But Trunks also recalled his delight when Vegeta hugged him, without reservation, for the first time since his infancy. Observing the prince's quiet warmth with Bulla now didn't make Trunks jealous because that one hug paved the way for Vegeta's complete emotional upheaval. His son knew better than anyone - besides Bulma.

But there was so much about his dad that he didn't know. He just wanted…

"Hello, my boy!"

Surprised, Trunks gulped his apple juice too quickly. Coughing ensued. His grandfather shuffled next to him, raising the boy's arms overhead.

"Grandpa…I'm…fine. You don't have to do that."

"My bad." Dr. Brief moved back. "Guess those Saiyan lungs will recover from drowning soon enough. Try water next time. No sweetness slows you down."

"I'm just happy dad wasn't around to see it."

Dr. Brief removed a cigarette from his scruffy lab coat. "Oh?"

Trunks recognized this modest invitation to talk. He adored his grandfather, but he had enough piecemeal therapy from his family.

"Grandpa, you can't smoke in here - and what are you doing over here anyway?"

"This used to be my house, kid. I earned the right to go anywhere I damn well please."

"OK." Trunks smiled, seizing a cigarette lighter from the old man's gnarled hand. "You sound like dad."

"I guess I'll take that as a compliment for now," Dr. Brief replied. "How about a fair trade? Return my lighter and I'll tell you Vegeta's whereabouts."

"What makes you think I want to _know_? He and the cabbage patch kid are probably training in their natural states right now. That's why I can't sense them."

"I'm no doddering fool, Trunks. You're not trying to sense them."

"Grandpa, I'm _telling_ the truth. This day had started better for me until-"

"Stop it, boy." Dr. Brief gently clutched his grandson's chin. "We're all we have. Remember that. I love you."

Trunks held the lighter behind his back. "I'm not returning this, because I love you too."

Dr. Brief squeezed Trunks' shoulder as he shuffled toward the kitchen island. "I can always light my cigarette on this stove burner. Also, your dad went to Gizard Wasteland."

"What? Why there?" Vegeta never shied from training in extreme conditions, if he traveled for that reason, but Trunks didn't recall this sandy desert being a favorite.

"He took your mom's plane, too."

"Did she… say anything? We talked about some stuff last night."

Dr. Brief threw a capsule to him. "Oh? She didn't mention it. If it's a serious chat, she usually says little to me unless truly necessary. Fly my plane out to Gizard before Vegeta decides to come back. It's in that capsule. Your mom made him promise not to wake you."

Trunks laughed. "Wow! He actually listened this time? That's amazing."

"He listens a lot more than you think. She deserves that respect - and then some. They just don't tell _you_ everything. Adults can be like that sometimes. Now get gone."

* * *

Gizard Wasteland, one of Earth's larger desert regions, was located in a vast plateau peppered with red sandstone buttes. Like the Saiyan prince, the soaring rock formations were ciphers, silently challenging observers with their simplicity and complexity.  
  
Trunks glanced at the plane's temperature gauge. The area's higher altitude kept it from being insufferably hot, but it was still summertime. Fortunately, the anatomy of Earth's Saiyans offered superior defenses against overheating, which passed to their part-human offspring.

"Weird. He's lured me out here to spar? Nope. Not happening." 

He couldn't reject his grandfather's kind appeal. The genteel scientist never asked a lot from him beyond familial companionship. But Bulma opened doors to answers requiring more questions. Getting what he had desired - his father's undivided attention - felt less exciting now.

A sensor spotted the plane's counterpart, guiding Trunks to the flattened top of a mesa overlooking endless patches of tumbleweed. He exited, staring skyward. His sleeveless training top gleamed, accentuating his lean muscular frame. Had he been next to his father, no could ever mistake the handsome teen as anything _but_ Prince Vegeta's son. Both appeared as pillars of reserved majesty.

Vegeta stood sentry from the mesa's highest corner. His tanned arms, which were folded, and bare chest shined with a thin layer of perspiration.

"Well, boy, are you just going to stand there staring? I didn't expect you to come."

"Yes, you did!" Trunks yelled back, rolling his eyes. "You're a terrible liar!"

Vegeta rapidly appeared in front of him. "Am I, now? Had I _extended_ an invitation, would you have _accepted_?"

"You got grandpa to do the work for you. I never thought you'd stoop that low."

Trunks tied his near-shoulder-length hair in a ponytail, curiously observing his father's physical appearance. Ruby-colored greasepaint and charcoal shading swathed Vegeta's penetrating eyes. Henna tattoos of black flames decorated his chiseled upper arms. His hands bore dark red-leather harness gloves. Rawhide greaves covered both shins. The linen bandanna tied around his head resembled an imperial wreath.

If his son had two words to describe the look, "feudal warlord" would fit.   
  
Vegeta grunted, removing a small earpiece. "That old man does what he _wants_. Blame your mother, not me, for tattling about my outing to him way too early this morning." 

"OK, dad. I'm not going to argue. It's not worth it, especially since you just made it ridiculously clear that you were tracking grandpa's plane."

"Why not?" Vegeta prodded with a sly smirk. "You've yearned for a _real battle_ with me for a while. If you want to be an _alpha_ again, son, then commit. You came clothed for it. I'm as alpha as you can get for a proper challenge."

Trunks wouldn't take the bait, not until Vegeta addressed his immediate concern. "Why are you dressed like this? And why did you come all the way out here anyway? All you need is an ancient katana and loincloth to complete your look."

"Follow me." Vegeta took flight, landing atop a nearby butte - the exact location where his first-ever fight with Son Goku began. "When I was a boy, a caretaker once told me that during so-called _ancient_ _times_ my people returned to memorable battle sites when called on to make amends."

Trunks hovered behind as Vegeta took a lengthy pause before facing him. "Amends to?" 

"At times to comrades, and always to family if one had been shamed. Elaborate body armor is not worn. My appearance symbolizes my pride's repentance. The course of what had been my desolate life changed on the place where we stand."

Trunks finally understood his father's aims. He shook his head. "Dad, please, don't. It's OK. You know mom and I talked. I still don't understand everything, but -"

With his head bowed, Vegeta dropped low on one knee. "I'm sorry, son."

A single brown hawk appeared, soaring in broad spirals far above them. Trunks' eyes followed the sacred bird's ascent as he touched the crown of his father's head.  
  
**\--Please take a moment to leave a comment if you can. Thank you!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case some readers are wondering, I want to clarify why Trunks doesn't know everything about his dad by now. This story follows some of DB Super's take, where Vegebul lied about Frieza being "good" after Goku brought him back from hell for the universal tournament. (They hadn't even told their son about future Trunks until the latter returned to their timeline for help. All of the Z-fighters definitely kept that part secret too. Makes you wonder how mom and dad cherry-picked other details. 😏)
> 
> *Some background about the references: "Johnny One Note" is a joke (taken from a song) about a singer who could only focus on one note. At the end of the chapter, focusing on the part about hawks, the animals have symbolized courage, strength, truth, soul-awakening, etc., across several cultures.


	6. Break His Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recap from last chapter: Vegeta's apology ritual opens another door for Trunks.

Once again, Trunks' concerned touch silenced Vegeta. Eight years after the prince gave his life to protect his family - a desperate, fitting act to redeem himself - father and son faced yet another solemn rite of passage.

To be sure, he would find his voice again, but he couldn't arise yet. He wouldn't allow roiling emotions to scare his boy. He didn't the last time. He didn't want to break down there, not while his son looked on. Trunks didn't move his hand, showing no embarrassment. Not only had his father bowed low, he felt the full extent of Vegeta's vulnerability.

His boy, who was much closer to manhood by human standards. The gap between child and adult almost would have been nonexistent had Trunks been reared like him.

Reared? No, Vegeta would never say that. No nurturing happened whatsoever, even by Saiyan standards. He wasn't cared for with uncorrupted favor and enjoyment. Especially not after his father used him as collateral to preserve an independent, warrior empire that wasn't as soon as Frieza secured dominance over it. The Saiyan puppet kingdom paid tribute - a tax - to his empire through their labor and debasement. They accepted that tax, living both as victims and what many considered to be villains.

Vegeta was psychologically programmed "for maximum efficiency," used for heinous deeds and encouraged to enjoy them, and offered choices that weren't always choices. How many times had his own sanity questioned him? The pendulum shift between Frieza's "affection" and callous contempt - both exclusively focused on his selfish needs - was the height of mental abuse.

Vegeta committed smart and woefully stupid acts throughout that period, but he also blamed himself for situations that weren't his to claim responsibility. Despite his pride, he served Frieza loyally as a compliant trophy - living as a victim and, sadly, a villain.

And then Goku came along, reeking to the high heavens with "simplicity" and a premature rejection of the heritage that contributed to who and what he was. This contempt, coming from a self-destructive, stubborn, erstwhile prince of a wiped out planet.

"Dad," Trunks whispered, "is some of this about not wanting a kid when you and mom first hooked up? I'm not upset about that. I mean, I was a little, but then -"

Hooked up? Vegeta shook his head, sighing wearily. At least the boy had enough respect not to call them "fuck buddies," as Bulma playfully did at times to annoy her husband.

"You already know that it's more complicated, boy. As you noted earlier, clearly I'm not dressed like this for giggles."

"Clearly not." Trunks smiled, clutching Vegeta's arm as he stood up. "Look, I-"

"What else did Bulma say, Trunks?"

"She showed me a video of you training, when you were younger."

 _A video? She didn't say anything about that._ Vegeta's eyes closed as he considered Bulma's possible choice out of thousands. _Gods help me. And everyone says I'm dramatic when I'm trying to prove a point? Gah!_

"You were wrapped in like ten-million bandages," Trunks continued, "but you fought in the chamber like a bad ass. Mom looked pissed off."

Vegeta's pitiless memory finally landed on his wife's choice. "What else?"

"You also looked completely out of your mind - more than I've ever seen." Trunks pointed at his temple, mimicking a cocked shotgun. "Like gone bye-bye."

I'm going to kill her. Vegeta felt too ornery to be mortified, especially now. _Of all the fucking records she just had to keep! She let him see that one_?

"I suppose 'gone bye-bye' is somewhat correct," he said, brushing dirt off his legs. "I definitely had a hard time adjusting to life here at first. Many changes happened over a short period."

Trunks paused, observing the dimming horizon. Large, puffy white clouds billowed from the east as the air cooled around them.

"It's worse than I think, isn't it, dad?"

Vegeta nodded. "There's not much good in it." His eyes followed his son's line of sight. "I only have lied to you once, and I will _never_ do it again. It's eaten me alive inside."

Vegeta wouldn't have if Bulma hadn't been involved, Trunks thought. His parents were too close, and they agonized about the decision together, undoubtedly.

"You mean you and mom weren't truthful, right?"

"Let's set aside discussion about your mother," Vegeta said. "I… have... much to tell you, but I also reserve the right to keep some thoughts private."

Gohan, mom, Grandpa Brief, and now him. Trunks wondered how much "some" would be. "Grandpa said something like that about you and mom. How much does he know about what you plan to say?"

Stronger wind gusts pushed between them, redirecting their attention to the swelling cloud burst. Outrunning the approaching thunderstorm would be easy if they moved quickly. Vegeta, being who he was, planned for this outcome.

"Your grandfather knows Bulma and me well enough not to pry about certain subjects," Vegeta said, raising his voice as the gusty din increased. "Been that way for years. To my endless frustration, your grandmother is an entirely different animal altogether."

"You knew it would rain," Trunks said, smiling reflectively. Once again, his father had duped him. "So I take it we're not leaving."

"It's not my fault you didn't check today's forecast." Vegeta's eyes focused on a cave burrowed deep within another butte, and then back to his son. "Hell, I could smell its formation five hours ago. Now let's move."

* * *

A shadowy blue-and-white glow greeted Trunks and Vegeta as they trekked far past the butte's craggy entrance. His father had been there several times, Trunks guessed, likely staying for hours. Vegeta deactivated a force field around a makeshift campsite, presumably to ward off curious creatures. After enduring harsh conditions during his army days, even he had limits. Napping near bats or - horrors - worms was unappealing. He didn't gag as much now, though.

Vegeta opened capsule containing a modest yet filling meal, prepared more so for Trunks' preferences than his. They dined on braised beef and onion and poached egg over rice, roasted root vegetables, and milk bread prepared by Bulma's mother.

Without saying it, Trunks recognized this as another act of contrition. And yet he wondered if any of this would really happen on Vegeta's home planet. He didn't believe Vegeta had lied, but some of it just didn't fit the man's personality, he thought.

Intuitively sensing Trunks' desire to guide the conversation, Vegeta said nothing. He would be as patient as his son needed.

Trunks didn't know what to ask at first. Normally he got straight to the point, like Vegeta would, but he needed to steady himself.

"So, um, when did you get the tattoos?" he asked. "How could I have missed that?"

Sitting with his eyes closed, Vegeta replied, "Have you forgotten my lessons about _not_ asking questions you already know the answers to? There must be a strategic purpose when you do."

"Dad! Really?"

Vegeta smirked enough for his chuckling son to throw dirt at him. "The simple answer, Trunks, is I did not intend for you to see them yet. They aren't permanent anyway."

"I kind of understand better why you prefer being alone sometimes."

"Even in places like this?" Vegeta realized he had never asked Trunks to describe how he appeared to him - beyond being his father, but as a person. "As much as you try to understand, I know it's bothered you at times."

"Yeah," Trunks agreed. "But so much about you is wrapped up in, um, rigor. Yeah, _rigor_ is the right word, I guess."

"Tell me more."

Trunks stood, touching the cave's jagged rock. "Our family lives really well." He couldn't look at Vegeta directly, feeling self-conscious. "As much as it offers, you probably won't ever be completely comfortable with that, will you?"

"No, I won't," Vegeta acknowledged, "and I make no apologies for that to anyone. I am Saiyan, and I am still alive because of that legacy - and some damned good luck. No one can take that from me, despite many attempts."

Trunks didn't know how to interpret this response. His emotions felt prickly. "So you think this life weakened your power and over-hyped legacy?"

"I did once. I'm sure Bulma and that video spoke _volumes_ , though you hadn't been conceived yet."

"Then why have you stayed?!" Trunks spat. He hadn't expected to lose his temper this quickly. "Gods, are you trying to say I was right all along?! You got excited about recreating what you lost through Cabba? If that's your apology after all this time, then I don't need it!"

If Vegeta felt defensive, it didn't show. He knew his son wasn't trying to be callous, although Trunks' response about the loss of his home planet stung.

"I stayed because, in the end, I know what it feels like to be _deserted_ …and controlled. I made _countless_ mistakes because of real and perceived losses in my life. As your father, I wanted you to use better judgment. Only then can you fully appreciate having free will to make decisions for your legacy."

Trunks sighed, shifting his feet. "Gohan said something like that to me - and just about everyone else."

"I'm not surprised." Vegeta conceded. "He's much smarter than his father and me in that respect. And he probably was more gracious with his opinion of me than I am about myself. Your mother too. Now, _look at me_ , boy."

Trunks sat down, crossing his legs. His eyes lifted slowly, meeting Vegeta's gaze.

"Let me be clear, Trunks. I don't expect you to be gracious. We knew this day would come. Your subconscious mind has practically screamed about your confusion over who I am."

"Practically?" Trunks interjected. "We wouldn't be here if I hadn't screamed consciously, but I wouldn't call it confusion. And what about you?"

Vegeta's voice suddenly became hoarse. "I never thought I would worry this much about having you lose faith in me." He hesitated, and then continued. "It's hard."

From there, the prince of all Saiyans told the rest of his story, uninterrupted.

The following day, Trunks left the cave a few hours before sunset, alone and in mourning. Vegeta didn't follow, expecting his son to find his way home eventually. For now, he had to deal with Bulma. A hologram message appeared on the control panel as soon as he re-entered the plane.

"Babe, I'll be in the lab when you return," her pre-recorded message said. "No angst-filled detours to the training rooms, OK? You should probably take it easy."

Vegeta snorted, wiping paint from his face. "Always telling me what the hell to do, that troublesome woman."

After a brief search, Bulma found her husband sitting quietly on their bed. He had shaved and smelled fresh from a soapy shower. He hadn't bothered to dry his hair. Despite his short stature, Vegeta's commanding, confident presence usually took up space. This time it didn't. His arms and legs were pulled in closer. His dark eyes appeared dormant, but Bulma knew his awareness remained intact.

She removed her lab coat before sitting up on her knees. He didn't move as she placed her hands over his. Seeing Vegeta like this always hurt, conjuring memories of their struggles. "It's going to be all right. He must be angry with me too."

"It is my hope that Trunks will be more understanding with you," a mentally exhausted Vegeta said. "I… asked him to be."

"Oh, honey." Bulma shook her head. "You didn't have to -"

Vegeta touched Bulma's lips, interrupting her protest. "I just returned the favor. It's his choice, regardless."

"Did he ask questions?"

"No," Vegeta replied. "He listened and, after I finished, left without saying anything."

"How much did you feel like you could tell?"

"Enough for him to understand the effects, without making myself the victim entirely. But I also didn't want to break his spirit. There are some things I couldn't will myself to say."

"But there is renewal," Bulma said, hoping to reassure him. "Your life is a testament. Trunks is stronger than-"

Vegeta didn't doubt his son's fortitude. "Stronger than I think, Bulma? Of course he is. He's our son."

"Then what, Vegeta?"

"He will be an adult soon," Vegeta replied. "I want him to be who he is without a coarsened, cynical spirit."

"Like yours?" Bulma rubbed Vegeta's hands after he sat on the floor. "Is that what you're saying?"

"You and I bulldozed ourselves into this outrageous relationship," he replied, stroking her face tenderly. "Our son didn't choose to be here."

"Tell me about it," Bulma teased. "Neither did you at first, but _somehow_ I couldn't get _rid_ of you, despite your bitching about staying on Earth. You were the mortal equivalent of an ants' nest."

"Oh, really?" Vegeta pulled her closer, resting his forehead on hers. "Blame that on Kakarot."

Bulma reared back, avoiding his kiss. "I will take no responsibility for your mutual shit-show with my friend, whatsoever. You can only take those jokes so far."

Vegeta's glanced at the balcony's door, trying to sense Trunks' location.

"Trunks has limitless potential to be great in ways that weren't mine to have at his age." His eyes drifted downward. "I have made peace as best as I can with my past. He had to know the truth, and now he must choose his path. His idolization of me is no longer an impediment."

"I know," Bulma said, cradling his head in her arms. "But it doesn't mean that you can't feel unsure or sad about it."

"My father wouldn't have, Bulma."

* * *

Trunks didn't use the plane. He flew on his own, trying to speed faster than the westward-traveling clouds. His mind reeled, occasionally affecting his staggered breaths. He could barely breathe when he left the cave. He just had to get away from his father. Crying didn't seem right, neither did suppressing his feelings altogether.

He knew Vegeta had killed, but like this? He guessed that Saiyans had troubles and squabbles, but they were planetary overseers too? How could his grandfather hand his eldest son over to a monster like Frieza, knowing what would likely happen? How close to insanity did Vegeta remain? Surely many Saiyans on that planet loved their families and raised their kids normally, right?

His father's details swam through his head:

_"…Strength is how we defined our worth, son. Saiyans were strong, and yet we weren't completely. Why? Because if we were as strong as we thought we were, the situation with Frieza would have been dispatched sooner rather than the opposite outcome. But if they had more time and greater numbers..."_

_"…What did I have? An idea of superiority indoctrinated in me because that's all my father seemed to have. That's what I relied on as I got older, and those who depended on me relied on that to protect themselves and their interests…"_

_"…Frieza's goal was to make me an elite killing soldier. He almost succeeded, after he destroyed everything that meant something to me…"_

_"…I was mercenary in every way. I felt that I had to be. This isn't an excuse. I make no excuses for myself. I have had choices all along the way. There were times I thought I enjoyed what I did because it was the only way I could believe in my capabilities and, later, fixate on what I really wanted…"_

_"….I offered Kakarot a chance to join me when I came to Earth. He didn't. I suppose it really wasn't an offer. I expected him to. Why wouldn't he? That's what I thought. He was low class, and yet he had so much power. I was stronger than he was at the time, but he kept pushing himself during our battle, and I was pissed…"_

Trunks soared higher, spinning in large circles. Images of himself as a boy riding happily on Vegeta's back finally broke his resolve. His chest heaved, awash with pain.

He wasn't a boy anymore. His father had shown enough respect to treat him as the emerging man that he was - no matter how much it hurt them both.

Trunks loved and hated him for that.


	7. And You Call Yourself a Saiyan?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trunks was left reeling from Vegeta's revelations, but he can't stay away forever.

_This is probably the only time mom and dad won't give a shit about me coming home on time -- whatever that means. Better use it wisely, Trunks.  
  
_At least he had a joke or two still left in him. Beyond that, numbness. Vegeta smashed his youth to shards during that awful thunderstorm. Then the teen considered _the other Trunks_ , from the other timeline. Hell seemed to follow that young man everywhere. Yet, from the stories Bulma and Vegeta shared, his bravery and decency were unmatched.   
  
_That_ Trunks, growing up in the shadow of a murdered father, had ample love from a battle-weary Bulma and his mentor Gohan, but not _privilege_. But _this_ Trunks wanted _for nothing_. The teen also realized his namesake deserved praise for more than time-traveling to stop a mad scientist and some gene-altered psychopaths from wreaking havoc.

This "future" Trunks forced an ego-bruised young Vegeta to fully acknowledge his infant son: him.  
  
More, _that Trunks,_ at seventeen years old, had the honor of slaying a revived Frieza, the favored son of the Frost clan, avenging the Saiyan genocide as Super Saiyan. Vegeta, who could only watch in awe, furiously decided that _nothing_ would block his claim to the powerful, legendary ascension that only Goku and the then-unknown boy had achieved.  
  
Years later, despite his magnificent achievements and atonements, Vegeta hadn't destroyed that monster on _his own terms_. Maybe he never would, his present-world son thought. Was this some type of sick Karmic comedy? His father seemed to have more lives than a feral dog -- and so did Frieza, apparently. Until Frieza stayed dead, Vegeta would be cruelly reminded of the bad old days, up close and personal, forever.

How hellish. The thought nauseated Trunks.  
  
He landed in the Brief family estate's sprawling botanical garden, trekking beneath ivy-covered porticoes until he stopped in a recessed resting area. A circular fountain encircled by a floral carpet of white heather gurgled in the background. Dimmed torch lights enhanced the scene's beauty. He sat down on a bench, considering Dr. Brief's wisdom.  
  
_Grandpa says we're all we have. I won't turn my back on you, papa._  
  
He hadn't called Vegeta "papa" out loud in years. Smiling at first, he plucked florets to give Bulma later, binding them with twine left in a basket. His crystal-blue eyes froze as an _unwelcome_ presence neared. He knew Cabba was lurking in the vicinity when he landed earlier but chose to ignore it. Now he couldn't and was none too pleased.

Cabba was an outsider. End of story.  
  
"I've had enough of your boot-licking goody-two-shoes act," Trunks said as the young Saiyan revealed his presence. "What happens between me and my father is none of your business, so go away."   
  
Raising his head, Cabba replied with a weary laugh, "You know I can't replace you."  
  
_The nerve of this arrogant prick,_ Trunks thought. Once again, his entire world had been turned upside down. Having another witness who wasn't family or a close friend invested in his well-being gnawed at his pride.

"Yeah, as much as you'd like to," he replied, dropping the basket. "Can't say I feel sorry for you. My father once knew this nasty dude named Captain Ginyu who body-snatched to gain an advantage during fights. Goku tricked him into entering a frog, saving dad and sparing Ginyu's life. A few years ago, somehow that guy got into another body and showed up here. Dad killed him. It was a mistake not to the first time, I guess."  
  
Trunks smiled, cracking his knuckles, much like Vegeta would.  
  
"Oh, good." Cabba's eyebrows relaxed, embracing the rhetorical challenge. "So we're clear now that you're just angry _with me_."  
  
"Nope, I'm still mad at him. I think he's clear on that. I just dislike you… _immensely_."  
  
Cabba had considered leaving the area as soon as Trunks arrived. He had not come to pick a fight. This was his mentor's son, after all. Not a good idea. Whatever happened between Trunks and Vegeta, he hoped Trunks recognized just how _much_ his father loved him.   
  
"So how will this end, kid? You can't kill me."  
  
"Don't be so sure," Trunks sneered. "If it wasn't for that 'honor' thing dad beat into me, I would've poisoned you by now. I never thought anyone could deceive him so easily, but damn, you hit that home run like an all-star player. You fooled everyone into thinking that I'm just jealous. _Master Vegeta_ , my ass."  
  
Cabba frowned, bristling at Trunks' stubbornness. "Where is all this hatred coming from? Not _once_ have I spoken poorly of you or interfered when you've clearly insulted me _and_ your parents."   
  
"My relationship with them isn't your concern. I don't like repeating myself."  
  
"And I dislike your underestimation _of me_ ," Cabba said icily. "I've been groomed to pursue this and now, because of Vegeta, I have less doubt about my purpose. So if you expect me to kiss your _entitled_ , _pampered_ , _tantrum-throwing_ ass, then think again."  
  
Blood rushed through Trunks' ears like a hand drum, matching Master Roshi's precise, rhythmic claps that students followed during footwork-training practice.  
  
"Who the hell are you to judge me?!" His nails dug into his palms. He couldn't beat the crap out of him then, but oh yes, a reckoning would happen eventually. "You're hiding something from my father! Took longer than it should have for me to figure out, until now."   
  
Cabba didn't deny the allegation. "Keep in mind there are many things I don't know about Vegeta, either -- and some I don't _want_ to know, as well."  
  
"Hah!" Trunks exclaimed, clapping his hands. "And you call yourself _a Saiyan_?! You bet your ass you don't _want_ to know. You'd piss in your pants, like you _almost_ did when dad showed you his true power during your first tournament. You couldn't handle it!"  
  
"Oh, don't be so sure," Cabba said, politely bowing good night. "Things change. I merely seek wisdom from your father's lived experiences _as he is now_."

Trunks spat on the ground, watching the foggy darkness devour Cabba's shadow.

* * *

Trunks climbed through his bedroom window. Obviously, one of his parents left it unlocked so he wouldn't have to see anyone if he desired not to. But he wanted to see Bulla before going to bed, hoping not to upset her this time. Her white blanket had been kicked aside on the bed. She whimpered after opening her eyes, reaching for him. Trunks glanced at the bedside intercom, wondering if their parents had heard anything. It was unplugged. How did _that_ happen?  
  
"What's wrong?" He laid the listless child on his shoulder, holding her head close. This was a big change from a few days ago. "Oh, wow. Feels like you have a fever. That's bad."  
  
Bulla sniffled, hugging Trunks tighter. "Mommy?"  
  
"Yeah, we'll find her, cutie pie." Trunks kissed his sister, unworried about becoming sick. "That's what you are. I look forward to beating up the guys who'll want to date you." Bulla smiled enough to calm his anxiety.  
  
Vegeta briefly watched them from behind. "Hand her over. Bulma is sleeping hard." Trunks carefully transferred her to his arms before stepping back.  
  
"I think she's feverish."  
  
"She definitely is," Vegeta agreed. "Call the doctor, and wet a towel after. We'll wake Bulma once the woman is here."  
  
"The monitor was unplugged, dad."  
  
"Really?" Vegeta's lip twitched as he looked around. "Her room was cleaned today. This is unacceptable. Bulma and I… should have noticed, though."  
  
Trunks tapped the wall, triggering a monitor to extend toward him. "I kept you really distracted the last few days, I guess, so I'll take responsibility."  
  
"Save the nobility for higher cause," Vegeta said, sitting down. "There will be better examples."  
  
Trunks picked up a toy, handing it to Bulla after placing a towel on her head. Their father definitely had a way with words, or the lack thereof, he thought. Just now, the man had said in his own nuanced style, "I'm not angry with you. I'm pleased you're home."  
  
Now, after their last talk, he better understood why Vegeta communicated this way at times. In this case, both of them "saved face" after a traumatic ordeal. But neither expected an extended détente, given their strong-willed personalities. There would be flare-ups along the way, but at least they knew where the other stood.  
  
Trunks looked at the monitor, which flashed red. "OK, so the doctor is on the way."  
  
Vegeta nodded. "You can go get some sleep. Bulla will be fine."  
  
"You don't know that."  
  
Vegeta yawned, propping his legs on an ottoman. "Trunks, the best part of having a second child is applying the lessons learned from your first."  
  
"What did you do?" Trunks sat on the floor, grinning. "Watch recordings of mom and me? I don't recall blowing snot balls or throwing up all over you when I was sick."  
  
Vegeta smirked. _Hooray. My insufferable brat has jokes._ "You wouldn't remember anyway, wise ass."  
  
"Watch your language." Trunks waved his finger. "I'm supposed to teach princess that stuff."  
  
"If you want to keep breathing, I suggest watering down _some_ of that foul vulgarity you spew when I'm not here. Learning the basics from Bulma and me will be enough for her."   
  
Watching Bulla's comfort in Vegeta's arms, one would think he was a natural at fatherhood, Trunks thought.  
  
"Hey, dad?"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"What do you mean I wouldn't remember?"  
  
"Look, Trunks, you already know my track record wasn't great with open affection. It never will be perfect in ways some think it should be, and you know why. Others who judge me can kiss my ass. Bulma knows _the entirety_ of what I am -- and now, so do you."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"That said, sometimes I held you as a toddler when you were sick, to assist your mother."  
  
"You mean when you finally decided to settle down with us."  
  
"The first three years are crucial," Vegeta continued. Bulla, whose face had turned pink, wiggled as he dabbed her forehead with the cloth. "Even full-blooded Saiyan babies could die from illness, especially those who weren't in growth incubators after birth."  
  
"I guess you get a pass on your parenting fuck-up during year one."  
  
Not completely, Vegeta thought, but rehashing the past had drained him. "We seemed to have made it work since then."   
  
"I know how hard you've tried since then," Trunks said. "None of this was part of the plan for you, but then it was. I don't expect you to reject or apologize for _the core_ what makes you…you."   
  
Vegeta looked up. "I wouldn't anyway, but I meant everything I said in the desert, especially about you. What I felt I needed to seek forgiveness for, I have."  
  
"I'm still angry about a lot of stuff, but you need me as much as I…as I need you, dad."

Vegeta waved him closer. "It's time for you to learn a few more Saiyan rituals."  
  
"You seem to remember a whole lot." Trunks never doubted his father's intelligence, but Vegeta had still been a boy when Frieza took him. "More than I ever realized."   
  
"I had many resources to make sure I would," Vegeta said.  
  
Dressed in a pink robe, a barefooted Bulma staggered into the room, yawning heavily. "What's going on here?"  
  
"Lower your voice," Vegeta scolded, gesturing at Trunks to fetch her slippers. "Bulla has a fever. Doctor is on the way."  
  
"I heard you both before coming in here," a visibly annoyed Bulma shot back. "If that's quiet, then I must have a dog's hearing."  
  
"Hn. Just put those slippers on, woman. We can argue later about decibels."   
  
Bulla coughed, capturing everyone's attention. Bulma's sleepiness faded immediately. Until now, the child had not been sick. She waved vigorously at Vegeta to stand up.  
  
"Give her to me now," she ordered. "Whatever it is, this illness is moving fast."  
  
She still owed Goku's wife gratitude from sharing advice after Trunks' birth. Gohan had high fevers, stopping around age four. Chi Chi had no idea about Saiyan physiology back then. She just relied on folkways, along with careful help from a doctor she trusted.   
  
"OK." Vegeta clearly didn't want to hand Bulla over yet, but arguing would be stupid. "I'll wait for the doctor."  
  
His reserve gave Bulma pause. She stopped fussing, realizing her blunder. Even now, sometimes she had to remind herself not to react. After many years together and a ton of pain, Vegeta proved that he could do this.  
  
"Um, don't worry about it honey. You two have this handled for now. Let's not move her until Dr. Ito arrives. I'll go." She repeatedly kissed all sides of her husband's head.  
  
Vegeta squirmed, pushing her back. "Stop doing _that_. Do you want Bulla to puke all over me?"  
  
Bulma laughed. "You know you love the attention."  
  
"He does, mom," Trunks teased. "He just dislikes _anyone else_ watching your secret mating dance. Any ethologist would enjoy this more than observing ostriches."  
  
"Ethologist, you say?" Bulma smiled. "We're such nerds. Isn't it great?"  
  
"Hardly." Vegeta snapped his finger lightly, pointing at the door. "And you're using up my goodwill, brat. Go with Bulma before I stick your severed head on a pike in the yard."  
  
"As if that will frighten anyone who knows you like we do." His father grunted, stifling a chuckle. Trunks won the coveted Brief-family prize for _almost_ making Vegeta belly-laugh.  
  
"No," Bulma countered. "Trunks stays." Having them talk as much as necessary was more important to her.  
  
Vegeta waited until Bulma was out of hearing distance before throwing another grenade his son's way. There would be no "good time" for the discussion. Having Bulla there would at least force Trunks to stay calm long enough for Vegeta to get through to him.  
  
Maybe.  
  
"Your jealousy of Cabba must end," he said. "No negotiation. You're only hurting yourself."  
  
Trunks felt surprised, and borderline offended, that Vegeta brought up this subject now. He couldn't throw a hissy fit completely, but this felt manipulative and unfair, unlike what happened in the cave.   
  
"When your jealousy of Goku ends, _father_ , then we're even."  
  
Vegeta didn't fume -- at least outwardly -- or flinch. Instead, his lengthy muteness allowed Trunks to ponder the ill-mannered answer. However much truth that comment held, Vegeta and Goku's relationship had more layers than jealousy, which Trunks knew more about now. He had thrown acid at his father unnecessarily.   
  
Finally, Vegeta decided to respond.   
  
"You finished now?"  
  
Trunks stepped forward. "Dad, I didn't --"  
  
"No, really," Vegeta insisted. "I'm not joking, and don't bother _telling me_ you didn't mean to say that, because you most certainly did. Don't be a coward. We're both lucky to have your sister here now, aren't we? Neither of us can kill each other. You'll be angry with me for a while. That's fine, but I still have expectations because I'm still _your father_."  
  
Trunks hung back as Vegeta returned Bulla to her bed.   
  
"I'm sorry, dad."  
  
"Yeah, I bet you are." Vegeta rubbed his tired eyes, clearing his mind.   
  
Trunks sighed. "What do you want from me?"  
  
"You found the most convenient insult just now to be spiteful. I'm over it already. You _know_ what I want. The hours we spent in the cave were for your benefit, Trunks. I think Cabba is a foil for you, in a way -- just like Kakarot and I have been for each other."  
  
_A foil?_ Trunks appeared confused. _When did dad start studying high literature?_  
  
Vegeta blinked several times, trying not to grit his teeth. He spoke the truth, but damn, that last part burned. From the beginning, Goku's actions freed him to choose a different path in life, which he eventually did. Whatever insecurity he still felt about their rivalry -- which wasn't much -- came from another place in his psyche, for different reasons.   
  
"He's a _phony_ ," Trunks implored. "He's playing everyone -- all except for me. I don't have anything to learn from him."  
  
"So that's what you argued about in the garden?"  
  
"You saw us?"  
  
Vegeta cocked his head. "Really, Trunks?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah." He rolled his eyes. "Don't ask questions you already know the answer to. I just didn't expect you to watch the security cameras all night."  
  
"It's interesting that you believe I'm unaware that Cabba is hiding something. I could snap his body in half if I sensed deception, which I don't. People have tried to kill me my entire life. I'm pretty good at calling out others' bullshit."  
  
Vegeta's lack of worry didn't appease his incredulous son.  
  
"Yeah, well, nobody's perfect," Trunks said, folding his arms across his chest. "So are you going to tell me what you think he's hiding?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you if you're still reading this. Big things happened to me recently that I'm trying to get a handle on, hence the delay. I do plan to finish this one. Writer's block isn't holding me back. Life just steps in the way. I have enjoyed reading your comments. Keep them coming!


	8. Quarantine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recap from last chapter: Trunks and Cabba had a blistering argument before the boy returned home to make an uneasy peace with Vegeta. Trunks also confronts his father with suspicions about Cabba. Bulla has a come down with an illness.

Hearing voices approaching Bulla's bedroom, Vegeta decided to postpone the conversation. He had more to say, actually, but his patience with teenage-Saiyan angst had finally burned out. His cryptic explanation about Cabba's evasiveness would have to satisfy Trunks for now.  
  
"Let's discuss this later, Trunks. _You_ go to bed. Now."  
  
Trunks glanced at Bulla's bed. "But dad --"  
  
"Your mother and I will deal with your sister."  
  
Bulla's whimpering and coughing resumed, stopping Trunks from further protest. She needed everyone's full attention. Bulma almost always insisted that their doctor make house calls. In fact, she made sure every Capsule Corporation employee with children had the same benefit.  
  
"Hello, little one," Dr. Ito said sweetly, feeling Bulla's forehead. "I hear you're not feeling well. You know who I am. You can't intimidate me." Bulla stared straight through the physician, who took no offense.  
  
Bulma gingerly grasped Vegeta's forearm, urging him to step back more. She leaned on his shoulder as his tension relaxed -- always a good sign.  
  
"Gods, is _this_ how it will be for the rest of my life with you three?" she said jokingly. "Just look at my poor baby. Saiyan pride? Stoicism? Suspicion? She's not even three yet."  
  
"As if age matters," Vegeta replied, faking insult. He tugged on Bulma's hair. "Her behavior is genetically hard-wired, and nothing is poor about her. Be glad she hasn't conquered Earth yet."  
  
"Shhh," Bulma whispered, scolding him. "You're getting sloppy with secrets."   
  
Dr. Ito's mother, who worked closely with Bulma's engineer father years before, taught her Saiyan physiology before the doctor completed medical school. The families' relationship had been mutually beneficial. After taking Bulla's temperature, which was higher, and a saliva sample, the woman's shoulder shifted almost imperceptibly. But Vegeta's sharp eyesight spotted the reaction.  
  
" _What_ is it?" he asked, moving ahead with Bulma. "Tell us, Ito."  
  
"Vegeta, just give me a minute, OK?" Dr. Ito replied calmly. "I am back-checking the initial test results on my device with information on an off-site database."  
  
"You ceased moving. That tells me you know --"  
  
"Stop it," Bulma ordered, eliciting a deep frown from Vegeta. "Let her finish."  
  
Dr. Ito caressed Bulla's head. "So it looks like our girl has RSV."  
  
"Respiratory syncytial virus." Bulma sat down on the bed, listening to her daughter wheeze. "I thought the vaccine our microbiologist developed would be enough for her and Trunks."   
  
"It's good we caught it early," Dr. Ito said. "I think it will be a mild case anyway. We just need to watch her breathing and appetite, and keep her hydrated. I'll give her a treatment to minimize the coughing before it gets worse. We should test Trunks for this virus too."  
  
"Mild?" Vegeta said suspiciously. "This is not right, and Trunks should be long past this immunological-development phase. I am uncomfortable with having him poked again unless there's good reason. You have enough information about my physical history to --"  
  
"Vaccines fail sometimes." Irritated with Vegeta's opposition, Bulma glared at him. "You know that. He's my son, too, and he _will_ be tested. Go get him."  
  
"He just went to bed." Trusting his judgment, Vegeta wouldn't budge. "Let him sleep." Making sure Trunks didn't self-destruct took priority. Their son needed rest.   
  
Being a kind person, Dr. Ito couldn't let the argument escalate. She was also shrewd. Siding with Vegeta at first usually gave her an advantage when she needed his compliance later.  
  
"I think he's correct, actually," she said. "Trunks looked exhausted when we entered. Sleep might be best for him. Also, if you don't mind, I'd like to stay here."  
  
"Of course," Bulma said, handing Bulla a small bottle of Pedialyte. "Yes, please. Use the empty bedroom next door."  
  
"I will be up for a while," the doctor said. "The sofa bed in here is fine when I'm ready to nap."  
  
"Agreed," Vegeta said, touching Bulma's arm to leave. "The baby monitor is on."  
  
"Thank you," Bulma said, hugging her. "If she weren't so young, I think I'd be less worried."   
  
Trunks listened to his parents' procession past his bedroom to theirs. He had been meditating to further relax himself. Bulla must be doing OK, he thought.  
  
Vegeta ushered Bulma into the master bedroom, casually checking on Trunks' energy levels. The low-level strumming he sensed eased his fatherly concern.  
  
_"She's fine,"_ he said telepathically. _"Go to sleep."_  
  
Trunks' eyes opened partially. The meditation worked well enough for his father to notice. _"Then why is Dr. Ito staying? And why are you eavesdropping on my body's resting pattern?"_  
  
_"I cannot wait until you have children,"_ Vegeta said. _"I will cling to an oxygen mask and tubes in my chest just to watch them torture you at this age."_  
  
_"I'm never getting married."_  
  
_"Who said anything about marriage, brat?"_  
  
_"Good night, dad."_ Trunks turned over, curling into a catlike ball beneath his bed sheets. " _I'll probably be awake before you."_  
  
_"I highly doubt that."_

Vegeta leaned on the master bedroom's door frame for a few minutes until Bulma's slipper smacked against his right leg.   
  
"I am not a canine," he said imperiously, sitting on their bed.  
  
"Not one on four legs," Bulma quipped, "but your Saiyan teeth share similarities with dogs."  
  
Vegeta bared his teeth, showing his canines, and snarled, "Don't add insult to injury."   
  
After kissing his temple, Bulma moved behind to massage his shoulders. Her capacity for sweetness when he was struggling often left him without words.  
  
Well, sometimes he could find a few.  
  
"You OK, Bulma?"  
  
"I planned to ask you the same thing."  
  
"My name isn't Bulma." Vegeta tasted his wife's lips as if they were luscious fruit. Her deeper entry into his mouth raised his heart rate. He looked up, kissing her temple.  
  
"You're not sleeping, are you?" she asked, smiling. "That kiss is my consolation prize."   
  
"Correct." Vegeta pulled back the blanket and sheets, waiting for her. "I can go without sleeping for days."  
  
"Yeah," Bulma said, winking at him. "Bite your tongue. You get real spooky after a while. Marijuana smokers have nothing on Prince Vegeta's hallucinations when he's sleep deprived."   
  
"Quiet." Vegeta laid face-up in the bed, left arm comfortably around Bulma's shoulder. "You talk too much."  
  
Bulma yawned. "You'd get bored if I didn't." It wouldn't be long before she fell asleep, but that couldn't happen before getting a good, memorable dig at her husband.  
  
Enjoying their banter, Vegeta said, "I am just highly selective of those with whom I spend my time. But I have more than enough activities to keep me occupied without you around."  
  
He also was one of the most fortunate men in his small part of the universe -- and fully aware each time he woke up next to her. 

* * *

Bulma woke up long after sunrise. Vegeta's side of the bed was cold and the baby monitor's volume had been lowered. While she appreciated Vegeta's thoughtfulness, the decision also annoyed her. Being asked whether she wanted to sleep later was preferable in this case.  
  
She heard Bulla softly call her name between coughs. Like other Saiyans, the girl had above-average hearing. Bulma pulled her robe tighter as she entered. Dr. Ito checked the little girl's temperature as Vegeta held her.  
  
"Mommy?" Bulla's pinkish nostrils flared. Then she looked at her father. She had no desire to talk beyond seeking physical comfort from her parents, and probably wouldn't utter another word for days -- not until she felt better.  
  
"Since when have I ever kidnapped you from your mother?" he whispered, handing her to Bulma. "You don't need my permission."  
  
"Yeah, right," Bulma said. "Her expression said otherwise. Also, Vegeta, we've done this for a while. We trade off on these check-ins, OK? I appreciate your thoughtfulness, though."  
  
"As you wish," Vegeta said, not appearing bothered.  
  
"Her fever is stubborn," Dr. Ito said. "I'm having some antiviral medicine sent over, and I'm putting her on a mild bronchodilator."  
  
Bulma looked at Vegeta as Bulla dozed on her shoulder. "How did she feel to you? Like, how is her strength? She still seems to be really lethargic. I guess that's just the fever."  
  
"I agree." Vegeta said, reassuring her, "But her energy is steady, as long as the symptoms aren't making her too uncomfortable. I recall Trunks' first _human_ ailment being more difficult."  
  
"But this is no less concerning," Bulma said. "I have to admit that I'm jealous that out of all you Saiyans, Gohan got through early childhood mostly without --"   
  
"We can reminisce later." Vegeta understood Bulma's exasperation but wasn't in the mood to be reminded. Selfishly, he too disliked how his genes "hadn't contributed enough" to protect both of his children. All of the Saiyan hybrids on Earth were exceptional, and yet this.   
  
Bulma sat down, rocking Bulla in her arms. "Was Trunks tested, Dr. Ito? He must be up by now."  
  
"He was tested," the doctor confirmed. "No problems for now. No abnormal antibody activity. I need to leave soon for the research center. I will follow-up later on."  
  
"Well, let me at least have breakfast sent up for both of us," Bulma replied as Vegeta opened the door. "Hey, are you training today?"  
  
"It's one item on my to-do list," Vegeta replied as he exited. "We'll check in later."  
  
He assumed Trunks left to train with Master Roshi. Oh yes, he knew. Goku "accidentally" mentioned it while reminiscing about the old sensei's drills. For Goku to snitch _like this,_ essentially betraying his highly respected childhood teacher, made Vegeta reflective. He set his ego aside, understanding that Trunks needed another safe space to learn. If anything, Vegeta quietly held Roshi's craftiness and ingenuity as a teacher in high regard. Otherwise, he wouldn't have considered sending Cabba to spend time training with the man.   
  
Where was Cabba anyway? Trunks had eaten, obviously, leaving a meandering trail of crumbs through the kitchen. Everybody could choose from capsulized meals when no one else cooked. Vegeta checked the electronic log of meals taken, noticing that Cabba's name didn't appear before or after Trunks' request.  
  
He didn't strain to search for the young man's ki signature. Vegeta and Goku were tuned in enough to sense close family members whenever they desired. Chi Chi and Bulma, though fully human, were intimate partners whose bodies adapted to their husbands. The Saiyans' detection didn't necessarily extend to those who didn't already possess appreciable power.   
  
_Cabba must be suppressing his energy._ _Interesting. I wonder what he's up to._ Vegeta flexed his arm muscles. Hunger hadn't stirred up his primal need to feed yet. He had much to consider after talking with Trunks about Cabba's demeanor. Again, he chose to trust instincts about his apprentice. He didn't rule out pride or shame as reasons for the young man's reticence. Tired of overthinking, he finally left for a training field miles from estate, where he found Cabba.  
  
"Any reason why you couldn't leave a message about your whereabouts?" he asked, flying above him. "You get a pass on this glaring lack of courtesy today, but I am displeased."  
  
Vegeta's twisted charm extended to his dramatic expressions of concern for those under his care -- like bouquets of daisies wrapped in boxing gloves.  
  
"I'm sorry, master." Cabba swallowed, bowing. He steeled himself for a serious, sustained ass-kicking session from the prince. He really, really didn't feel up to it, but showing weakness was unacceptable. "I figured you and Dr. Brief were busy with Bulla."  
  
"And Trunks…"  
  
"Yes." Cabba wiped his forehead. "Him too."  
  
Vegeta landed, strolling unhurriedly in his direction. He stayed several yards back, however, to observe the territory. "Care to tell me what happened between you two last night?"  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"You heard me, boy." Vegeta put on his white gloves, flashing a savage grin. "Shall we discuss it during our _ballet practice_? You're obviously suppressing your power for a reason."  
  
In fact, Cabba had been conserving power. He woke up feeling unwell and out of sorts. At first he blamed Trunks' hostile confrontation with him. Maybe the stress and disappointment finally got to him. He had been thinking too much about his lineage lately. He was a bastard among his kind -- an "illegitimate" child. Exercising would moderate his anger, he hoped, and he wasn't _that_ sorry about not leaving a note. Vegeta would find him eventually, and he expected to be in better shape before that happened.  
  
But he wasn't. Every inch of his body felt like an inferno. Sweat beaded on his neck. His tawny skin appeared less robust. He shook his head, hoping to clear his increasingly blurry eyes.   
  
"Cabba! Are you paying attention?!"  
  
Vegeta's startling bellows could flatten mountains, the young man thought. Cabba had no idea that this _actually happened_ more times than Vegeta could count.  
  
"I am, sir," he said. He felt like a million hot needles were prickling his skin. "Yes."  
  
"You could have fooled me," Vegeta said tartly. "We'll spar in base form for now."  
  
Cabba moved into a fighting stance. His chest throbbed as he inhaled. No matter. "Let's fight as Super Saiyans!" he shouted. He powered up, barreling full throttle at his surprised teacher.

Vegeta recalled asking Cabba to be more authoritative, but he hadn't expected his student to defy him over such a prosaic request. He chose base form for a reason. He didn't fly high, either, as Cabba advanced. Instead he backflipped overhead, plunging a double-fisted-strike punch at the base of his student's neck.  
  
Cabba gasped in pain, quickly losing his power. He crashed with a thud, face down, holding his chest. He coughed and wheezed, trying to recapture his breath.  
  
Vegeta appeared confused as he landed nearby watching Cabba continue to struggle. That was way too easy. The young man's ki felt… broken.  
  
"Stop being theatrical, kid. That's my job." Vegeta turned Cabba over, observing him. Of course he now knew something was wrong, but it was his job to stay composed.  
  
A glassy-eyed Cabba moaned, staring into nowhere while Vegeta checked his pulse. A scarlet-colored skin rash stained parts of the young man's collarbone, neck, and right shoulder. Vegeta blinked multiple times. Then, a familiar feeling and years-old memory made his blood run cold. He had get to him to hospital -- fast.   
  
"This can't be. Not after all these years." Anguished terror gripped his thoughts. What about Bulma and their children's welfare? What about everyone else?   
  
If Cabba contracted a mutated version of the virus that almost killed Goku almost two decades earlier, this would be a race against time to stop its spread.   
  
Vegeta raised his power level as he flew, cycling it like a truck engine's carburetor. He and Goku agreed on using this method for certain emergencies. Neither would arrive in person until the second one warning went out -- or the person sending the call took too long to respond. Goku's telepathic reply arrived immediately.  
  
_"What's wrong, friend?"_  
  
_"Is all of your family at home today on Mount Paozu?"_  
  
_"Yeah, we're all here for a picnic together. My in-laws and granddaughter too."_  
  
Vegeta's stomach soured. That harmless event just went straight to hell. " _That heart virus you had might be making a comeback."_  
  
Silence.  
  
_"It's a bad time to go mute on me, idiot! Snap out of it!"_  
  
_"But how?"_ a stunned Goku asked. _"How can you be sure?"_  
  
_"I am rushing Cabba to Capsule Corporation's off-site research center now to put him in medical isolation. He acted strangely before and after we started sparring. His symptoms are almost identical to yours. Listen to me carefully. Call Dr. Ito first. She must notify her colleagues to prepare and get other researchers lined up."_  
  
Goku watched his granddaughter Pan playing happily outside. _"What else?"_  
  
" _Notify Bulma and get dressed in protective clothing. We have them in several places at home."_  
  
_"OK. So I can bring her and Bulla where you're taking Cabba?"_  
  
"Yes." Vegeta took a deep breath. _"My daughter is already sick, so I want her to be examined. Last, tell Roshi to keep Trunks where he is until you can get to them. We've all been exposed, so too many of us shouldn't be running all over the place."_  
  
Sensing the fatigue in Vegeta's response, Goku asked, _"What about you?"_  
  
_"You know the drill, Kakarot. Just do what I say."_  
  
A battalion of medical workers dressed in protective clothing rushed outside to receive Vegeta and Cabba at the back entrance. A towering blond woman wearing black horn-rimmed glasses insisted that Vegeta change into similar clothing despite being exposed to the mystery ailment already.  
  
"I don't have time _for that_ ," Vegeta barked at the woman, who clearly was not intimidated. "That is for your benefit. You can quarantine me, but I must support my student while he's in isolation for however long I can. He has no family here. I… I have a responsibility to him."  
  
He could've rebelliously pushed past her but instead waited for the words to sink in.   
  
"You do have time," she said firmly. "Dr. Brief made it clear that your safety is our _highest priority_ as well. That means you do what _we say_. We also have a responsibility to you. We must do an initial evaluation, starting with your temperature and a full blood draw." 

Cabba had been wheeled in on a stretcher, moaning and coughing in spasms. Vegeta heard an attending nurse say the young Saiyan's fever had climbed higher. Another worker gave the prince a handheld visual communicator. Bulma was feeding Bulla. His wife looked concerned but not scared. Fright had been set aside for now. Science consumed her thoughts.  
  
"How you doing, babe?"  
  
Vegeta sighed. "I suppose I've had worse days."   
  
"You heard my orders about letting them care for you -- and you _definitely_ have had worse days. You are a step above Goku in that regard. Sorry to tell you."  
  
"Yes, yes. _I know_. Stop bullying me from afar, woman."  
  
"Stop being such a weenie." Bulma smiled. "We'll get through this. Until we know what we're dealing with, I suggest you take five minutes and think about how far you've come. Play with an energy beam or another toy to stay busy."  
  
"You seem to be handling this well," Vegeta replied, touching the screen.  
  
"For now," Bulma said. "I have no choice. I love you. Now say those three little words back to me, handsome. Eh, whatever. I changed my mind! Too late!"  
  
"I loathe you." Vegeta hid his arising laughter. He still had a tough-guy image protect around all of these assertive, nosy medical workers bustling around.  
  
He covered his face with his hands as their call ended. Bulma truly was a fantastic woman.  
  
Bulma hugged Bulla, who cooed pleasantly. Her wheezing seemed to be more manageable with the first-line treatment Dr. Ito prescribed. "I think your daddy is incorrect about this one, but love has an extraordinary way of freaking him out sometimes. That's a good thing."  
  
She would be beside herself if anything happened to their daughter, so she chose not to focus on the worst. They would have to stay quarantined for a while until the medical team gave the all-clear. She also suspected something else had infected Cabba, wondering how it happened.  
  
Goku appeared behind her dressed head-to-toe in a biohazard suit. "You ready to leave?"  
  
"Yes." Bulma patted his chest. "Always." 

* * *

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	9. Death Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recap: After attending to his sick daughter with Bulma, Vegeta left to find Cabba to spar and learn about the bitter argument his student had with Trunks. Cabba soon becomes ill, mysteriously, leaving Vegeta to think this might be a mutated version of the heart virus Goku once had. Before that, Cabba had been brooding about his Saiyan identity.

Master Roshi toddled serenely next to Trunks, who was anything but serene. The old man stopped, driving his walking stick into the ground, and removed his dark-as-night sunglasses. He grunted affably at the brooding teenager under his careful watch.  
  
"Stop it, Trunks," he said, handing the boy a mango. "You're totally depressing my cheerful vibe."  
  
Where Roshi got the fruit, and the knife to cut it, Trunks didn't know.  
  
"Stop what?"  
  
"You have trained well with me, and continue to, but this dark cloud over hanging over your head about Cabba is clearly holding you back."   
  
Trunks' eyes didn't move from the horizon holding his attention as they walked. "I didn't tell you some of my feelings about that guy to have it used against me."  
  
Roshi clucked his tongue. "Boy, I am nearly four hundred years old. Longevity has offered perspective for those like me -- and a little wisdom -- although not always for others. You do not want to spend valuable time --"  
  
"Being like dad was when you first met him?" Trunks interrupted.  
  
Roshi eyed him thoughtfully. "Vegeta is a product of his past environment -- and continues to be. Chaos and disappointment and desires are parts of life. He has also done well for himself in ways others underestimated. But the truth is, I never did."  
  
Trunks touched Roshi's staff, preventing his teacher from moving again. "Really?"  
  
"Your father is well-loved and respected now, is he not? Also, I mean by those who matter most to him, including both of my former students."  
  
Trunks laughed in Roshi's face before he could stop himself. He hadn't intended any disrespect, but the observation caught him off guard. "Krillin and Goku? Respect I know without doubt. But the 'well-loved' part is a stretch, don't you think?"  
  
"They would go down in flames for him," Roshi replied, chuckling. "Goku has, in fact, which you know. There are many types of love, with two I'm thinking of."  
  
"Now you're speaking in riddles."  
  
Roshi began to draw in an unrecognizable script. Two words, with a line down the middle. "Ha! Well, well. I still have the painter's touch! Aren’t they gorgeous?"  
  
"Prehistoric language, I take it?" Trunks bent down to examine them. "Did you invent it?"  
  
Roshi frowned, jabbing Trunks' leg with the stick. "Comments like that remind me clearly about who conceived you."  
  
"Clear as day," Trunks said, smirking. "I can't do anything about that. The truth is, you secretly enjoy the challenge of training me. Piccolo and Goku had their chances when Goten and I were younger, but that was out of necessity to stop Buu from killing us all. But with you --"  
  
"I am rather _transparent_ , boy. Knowing that you feel like I have more to offer -- in a different way -- is heartening. Goku and Krillin consider me like a father to them, but until the Tournament of Power, when the universe was on the line for erasure, they had somewhat forgotten about my resourcefulness."   
  
"So what do these pictures mean?"  
  
"There are several types of love," Roshi said, pulling out a long smoking pipe. "The first word here, _pragma,_ means love based on reason and duty -- on shared goals, as it were. The other, _philia,_ means friendship. It took a while for obvious reasons, but indeed they are friends. Gohan too. At times Vegeta keeps people at a distance for reasons beyond being a surly Saiyan prince without a kingdom -- despite respecting or having appreciation for them."  
  
Roshi lit tobacco in his elaborately decorated pipe, studying the clouds. His intuition nagged loudly like an alarm, until a croaking voice penetrated his thoughts.   
  
_"This is your sister, you old fart. I have information. You and Goku don't have to pay me any money up front because of that whole tournament thing."_  
  
Roshi took a long pause, allowing Trunks time to think. _"Yes, Baba, the one in which we saved everyone, including your greedy posterior. Make it quick, you old hag. I'm with a student."_  
  
_"I'm playing with my crystal ball and seeing pictures about Goku, you and Vegeta."_  
  
" _Keeping tabs on us out of self-preservation is more like it,"_ Roshi teased. " _Just keep the visual snooping to a minimum, please._ "  
  
_"As you know_ , _visions I see farther out in the future may come true or not, but expect that Goku will find you shortly, most likely_."  
  
_"And the future?"_  
  
" _That involves what seems to be disputes between your young student and the other two. Other visions I conjured seem less contentious, but that could change. Some kind of medical problem is involved."_  
  
Roshi lit his pipe, seemingly unmoved. " _Thank you, sister_."  
  
" _Just support your young student, little brother,"_ Baba cautioned. _"Although, I’m sure you're doing a good job already._ "  
  
_"Ah, you still love me,"_ Roshi said, smiling. " _How lucky I am."_ Baba didn’t respond, as usual.  
  
Trunks ended their mutual silence. "I mean, I know Goku and dad totally get each other as fighters, but I feel like mom probably understands dad most. He said it, actually. It's interesting watching them now. They're really like best friends."  
  
"They _are_ best friends, because they accept each other as they are, and have grown together as adults," Roshi said. "We all should thank Bulma for that grand achievement."   
  
"Yeah." Trunks appreciated his mother's frankness more. She didn't have to jumpstart that excruciating talk in the lab about her fractious relationship with Vegeta.   
  
"Now then, back to you and Cabba."  
  
Trunks stood. "Master Roshi, I was beginning to enjoy this chat. Can we overlook that subject for now, please?"  
  
Roshi dumped the contents from his pipe. "You don't fear much and are brave, much like your father. That is laudable, but you _must_ conquer your fear about what Cabba represents in Vegeta's life -- and your own. You know as well as I that jealousy is secondary."  
  
"I'm _not_ jealous," Trunks complained. "I mean, at first I was. It's more than that --"   
  
Roshi's crooked smile challenged Trunks further. "I think that's what I just said, son."  
  
Goku abruptly appeared next to them, startling the formerly preoccupied Trunks, who recognized his outfit. Roshi stared closely, placing a steady hand on the boy's arm.  
  
Indeed, the old man had seen much in his long, storied life. He relished challenges, but for some ordeals, the special kind of hell they brought along just wasn't worth the effort.  
  
"I tried you at Kame House," Goku said. "This training island is huge. Glad I found you."  
  
Feeling sick from dread, Trunks' face paled. "What's happened to my family?"

* * *

Vegeta stayed in Cabba's room, paying careful attention for unexpected power spikes. Despite how ill he was, that possibility loomed. Blowing everyone in the room to smithereens accidentally wouldn't be a great outcome. He had been thrashing violently in bed, speaking incoherently, as Vegeta helped hold him down. The angry rash had now spread all over the young man's body.  
  
Vegeta nodded at a nurse to quickly inject him with a strong sedative. "Listen to me. Calm yourself. No one is here to hurt you. Do you know who I am?"  
  
Hearing a distant voice, Cabba opened his hazy eyes partially.   
  
"Yes, that's right," Vegeta said, feeling a bit relieved. He hoped to be spared from doing this with his own children. "You will beat this, because that's what Saiyans do. We are warriors _until the end_. I'm here."  
  
"Yes…father…" Cabba mumbled. Caught off guard, the nurses looked inquisitively at Vegeta, who slowly and defiantly folded his arms over his chest.  
  
"You have a job to do," he said, giving them rigid, rock-hard stares. "Making assumptions about sick people is unprofessional and _unwise_ \-- and _definitely_ for me. Have I made myself clear?"  
  
Crystal clear, no doubt. No one crosses the boss's husband. Never.  
  
"Yes, sir," the nurses said obediently as Dr. Ito entered, followed by another doctor.  
  
Unable to breathe on his own now, Cabba had to be intubated soon after. After observing the procedure, Vegeta locked his disquiet far within his steely mind, much like he did during the Tournament of Power. His wife and children needed him now.  
  
Dr. Ito's sympathetic hand gently touched his arm as he moved past. Neither looked at each other, standing side by side.  
  
"You don't have to do that," he said impassively. "I'm fine. Are they all here? How… is my daughter? She is most vulnerable."  
  
"All of them are here. Bulla shows no signs of increased white blood cell count or temperature, ruling out a secondary infection for now."  
  
"For now," Vegeta said.  
  
"She is under close watch, with Bulma nearby. Everyone else is asymptomatic, which is very good news. We also have comfier, form-fitting biohazard clothes for you. You'll look less like --"  
  
"A space alien?" Vegeta quipped. "Try again, doctor."  
  
Dr. Ito smiled, although not as brightly. "The new clothing is in the decontamination cleansing room's antechamber. As soon as the suit you're wearing comes off, stand naked in the infrared light and then spray a skin protectant all over your body."  
  
"And then _what_?" Vegeta asked warily. "I want to see my family."  
  
"You can't be with them up close." Dr. Ito cleared her throat, bracing herself. "Your temperature… is elevated beyond what it should be for your body type, along with your white blood cell count."  
  
"I feel _fine_."  
  
"Vegeta, this result goes beyond quarantine now," Dr. Ito said. "You're aware of that. You must be fully isolated now that you're symptomatic, as Cabba is now, to be treated. Luckily, we have better methods to deal with emerging sepsis or cytokine storm related to these kinds of viruses. That's why Cabba is still alive, and my hope and expectation is you don't come close to where he is now. We have already figured out the class of virus this is, because of its physical and genomic resemblance to the other one."  
  
"Two years," Vegeta said, shaking his lowered head. "That's all we got." His family had been out of harm's way for less than two years.   
  
The Tournament of Power and the hard work everyone contributed to protect what little they had affected him profoundly. Having another baby was one of the happiest moments in his turbulent existence. Sure, he risked his life almost regularly -- willingly, when called on -- but having just _a little_ _more time_ without having to would've been nice.   
  
"What?" the perplexed doctor asked. "I don't understand."   
  
Vegeta sighed, turning toward Cabba again. "Nothing. Ignore that. Does Bulma know?"  
  
He hadn't noticed that Dr. Ito's hand stayed on his arm. He was used to rejecting _any_ tactile comfort from others while under extreme stress -- even from Bulma sometimes. Even now. Yet he felt no regret about helping Cabba.  
  
Dr. Ito nodded. "She knows."  
  
Vegeta worried less about Bulma's reaction than his son's potential response. Who knew what other conspiracy theories Trunks had stampeding through his distrustful mind?  
  
"Do you want to stay in this room, with Cabba?"  
  
"That's fine."  
  
"I want to bring Bulma, Trunks, Goku, and Roshi outside of an observation window connected to the sitting room next door. It has an enclosed glove box. You can hold hands or do whatever you prefer, much like anyone touching a sick child in an incubator."  
  
"Bulma and Trunks first. I can speak with the other two later. They will understand."   
**  
**

* * *

Trunks stood back watching his parents talk quietly. He agreed to stay behind a sound barrier briefly to give them privacy. He also turned away, furious, when Bulma's hand entered a glove that his father readily held like precious gold.

All of this was so unfair.  
  
He didn't care about life not being fair in general, not while watching Vegeta's forehead pressed against the window as Bulma's other hand touched the glass in the same place.  
  
"Damn you." Bulma gripped Vegeta's hand, holding it tighter. "Didn't I tell you to play with an energy beam? I mean, you just cannot stay out of trouble."  
  
"And your point is?" Vegeta said almost inaudibly. "Neither can you. I guess that's why I like being around you."  
  
"Liar!" Bulma said, not batting an eye. "You like _the food_ and training-room access. You made sure to knock me up with our two brats to keep things that way."   
  
"You thoroughly enjoyed getting knocked up in every sexual position possible, unless my memory has failed me," Vegeta said with that cocky I-can-do-anything-I-want smirk that Bulma fell in love with. Then he caught a glimpse of Trunks' agitation. "Let's get our son over here."  
  
Bulma waved at Trunks, who walked through the sound barrier. Vegeta's vigilant observation upset him, although the boy vowed not to show the full extent, which Vegeta knew was unlikely.  
  
Trunks stood next to Bulma, holding her hand. "You don't have to tell me you'll be OK," he said, offering a partial smile. "I know anything can happen. We've been through this before."   
  
"We haven't been through _this_ , specifically," Vegeta said. "Neither of us fear death, but I know it hurts you."  
  
"He _did_ this." Trunks stared down at the floor, hands and face reddening. "Cabba should have never come here. Never!"  
  
"Honey, don't do this." Bulma tried embracing her son, who pushed her off.  
  
"No, mom!" Trunks hissed, pointing toward Vegeta. "No more! I tried telling _everyone_ about him. I mean, by the gods, he brought _a plague_ with him. I don't think this has anything to do with that other virus Goku had. Look at all of us now! Look at your husband! You know, I can understand dad doing what he does for himself, but this? I'll be damned if you ---"  
  
"That's enough!" Vegeta's coal-black eyes set on fire. "One more word, Trunks Brief --"  
  
"And what will you do, dad?" Trunks seethed. "None of us can do _anything_ but hope these researchers do their fucking jobs and keep you alive! I would trade your life _any day of the week_ for Cabba's! I hope he dies in the most miserable way possible!"   
  
Stunned and hurt, Bulma covered her mouth. She quickly felt pairs of arms holding her on opposite sides. Knowing that his wife was in good hands with Roshi and Goku, who appeared out of nowhere, Vegeta's focus returned to Trunks. He could handle his son's rage on his own. He understood the nature of that wrath all too well. But seeing Bulma cry about their son's hatefulness over a defenseless, seriously ill person ripped his heart out.  
  
"Take her out of here, guys."  
  
"No way," Bulma said, moving their arms away. "I'm _staying_ right here."  
  
"I need to speak with him alone," Vegeta replied. He cocked his head until Bulma's hurt-filled eyes gave permission. "Unless you're ready to leave, son."  
  
Trunks retreated to the corner, keeping his back to them while he beat the wall. He would be damned if any of them saw him cry, especially his father. He knew Vegeta hadn't cried much growing up, if at all. His father never discussed it, but the boy was sure of it.  
  
He thought he knew.  
  
"You should stay, Trunks," Goku said kindly. "Vegeta would never say he's lonely, but --"  
  
" _Really_ , Kakarot?" Vegeta said, scowling at him. "Lonely? That's _the best_ you can do? Stop while you're ahead before your brain curdles from complex thought."  
  
Roshi was the first to laugh, nudging Bulma while she wiped her eyes. Goku smiled, keeping his gaze on Trunks. The boy brushed his lavender hair back, exhaling. He also showed no remorse. Hurting Bulma's feelings hadn't been in the plan, but he told the unvarnished truth. His father, of all people, should understand that better than anyone.  
  
"I'll stay here as long as dad wants me to."  
  
Vegeta clasped his hands behind his back. "For as long as you want to stay."  
  
The prince waved at the other three to leave while Trunks rotated a chair in front. His legs straddled the seat, while his arms folded over the top rail. Vegeta pressed a button, increasing the speakers' volume so he could walk the floor.  
  
"You know, Trunks, your bloodlust will _never_ compare to mine on a good day -- _ever_. You haven't even offered a solid reason to justify this animosity. I only hear speculation."  
  
"Dad, you basically accepted him into your life -- our lives -- sight unseen. You haven't formally met other Saiyans from Sadala except for Kale and Caulifla, who both like Goku better than you. I know the tournament fighters from other universes didn't tell everyone on their home planets to avoid scaring people, but you don't find anything else suspicious? Cabba tells you about a 'great Saiyan prince' and the 'great things' his people have done, and then just…ignores big parts of the story later? I mean, what the fuck is that about?"  
  
Vegeta stroked his beard, noticing a small bullseye-size rash on the inside of his right bicep. "Go on. You have the floor."  
  
"You and Goku know more than enough powerful spirit-beings who could probably tell you more."  
  
"And that's where you're mistaken!" Vegeta laughed darkly, thinking about Frieza's unwelcome resurrection. "That's not how _any_ of this works, boy! You've seen it up close! Imagine what life would _really_ be like if those more powerful than us interfered all the time? Absolutely unbearable."  
  
"I feel like we keep talking past each other," Trunks said, looking away.   
  
"Emotions should inform your judgment, not cloud it beyond recognition," Vegeta continued. "You've been exposed to the same beings I have -- although not all -- even learning skills from some of them. Use that wisdom better than what I'm seeing now."  
  
A wall monitor facing Vegeta displayed a message summoning him for more tests. His temperature was higher, according to his wrist band monitor, and he was starting to feel it.   
  
"So what's the verdict, dad?"  
  
"I think Cabba is part of the Saiyan royal family on Sadala."   
  
Trunks sat up straight. "You've _got_ to be shitting me. Him?"  
  
"I shit you not," Vegeta replied, "but I have to take more tests soon. We can talk by monitor afterward. Go apologize to Bulma -- profusely. My already thin patience is exhausted with you on that part. I mean it, Trunks. _I'm done._ Keep this ceaseless complaining about your miserable life on my side of the field for now."  
  
"Dad, wait." Trunks stood, placing both hands on the glove box. "I can't --"  
  
"I'm still breathing." Vegeta's right fist rapped lightly on the window before leaving. "Make yourself useful and hug princess for me. You're good at that."   
  
"Your technique has improved remarkably, papa." Returning the gesture, Trunks tapped until he couldn't see his dad anymore. 

* * *

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	10. It Is His Turn Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recap: Vegeta has been isolated from his family after showing symptoms of the virus ravaging Cabba's body. The rest of the Briefs have been quarantined together, along with Master Roshi, while waiting on their test results. The added stress has amplified Trunks' frustration, causing him to heap more blame on Cabba until Vegeta puts his foot down. Vegeta also shared his thoughts about Cabba's origin, saying that the young Saiyan may have royal lineage.

_I mean it, Trunks. I'm done_. _  
_  
Vegeta had made himself clear, and yet in the same breath reassured his son about their sturdy father-son bond. Trunks brushed his hair back, retying it before finding Bulma to apologize _again_. When the teenager wasn't in a fit of pique about something Vegeta did or didn't do, he usually paid close attention to his father's eyes. Cracks in the Saiyan prince's imposing veneer almost always appeared there first, mostly with family, despite a few glaring emotional breakdowns in the past with Goku, Gohan, and Krillin.  
  
All would agree, however, that Vegeta could snuff almost any outward display of deep vulnerability when called upon _to fight_ and _protect._ His eyes showed glints of uncertainty in the hospital observation room, though. Trunks didn't recall a similar reaction before the universal tournament, but Vegeta had been hyper-focused on the unfolding drama. His parents had also conspired to hide the full details about those dire circumstances.  
  
And, once again and thankfully, everyone came out alive.  
  
But this was a different kind of fight. Illnesses force truth-telling in ways other circumstances don't. They exist in a world of their own, independent and unconcerned about the feelings, fears, and the hopes of victims. Motivation is irrelevant.  
  
Bulma sat in a dining area in the family's hospital suite. Roshi was sleeping, and she didn't appear to be bothered by that. She sipped from a bowl-sized wine glass of Sauvignon Blanc, occasionally stirring up liquid cyclones for minor amusement.   
  
She couldn't breastfeed Bulla for a while now anyway, so she felt no guilt for indulging. Seeing her husband sequestered behind that glass like a caged falcon burned at her insides. She wanted smash everything in that room and run away with him.

For all of her wealth, sometimes she fantasized about disappearing completely with Vegeta and the kids. She had nothing to prove to anyone and no fatal-flaw insecurities wrecking her contentment anymore. She enjoyed others' company, but "being seen" mattered less each day, especially after Bulla's birth.  
  
Hearing Trunks walking behind her, she took another long, slow sip. "You hungry, kid?"  
  
"I thought you couldn't drink, mom."  
  
"Well, sue me." Bulma didn't plan to stand up or relinquish her wine glass. "I never thought I'd hear _my son_ screech like a mad despot demanding a miserable death for another person who has done no harm."  
  
Trunks looked at Bulma's plate, which held lukewarm pieces of roasted chicken. No other food remained. He casually took a perfectly cooked thigh. Normally she would have blocked this blatant robbery from her dish with a jagged knife.

Instead, she just sipped.  
  
"I'm sorry I hurt you."  
  
"Not good enough, Trunks," Bulma said, shaking her head. " _Not today_."  
  
"You sound like dad now. I can't take back what I said."  
  
"Well at the very least you listened to him. But I am also sure Vegeta is tired of telling you to apologize _to me_ each time you show your ass like a naked mole-rat."  
  
Trunks winced at this mental image. "He's _done_. That's what dad said, to be exact."  
  
"Now let _me_ be clear." Bulma leaned forward, pressing her forefinger on the rim of Trunks' plate. "I am _more done_ with this than Vegeta will _ever_ be. Your anger at the world right now makes sense, but the last few days have aged all of us, son. I almost wonder if…"  
  
Bulma's words trailed off, even as Trunks deciphered her thoughts: Maybe they should've postponed that conversation about Vegeta's past until much later.  
  
"Mom, don't." Trunks held up his hand. "Dad has no regrets about telling me."  
  
"Is that so?" Bulma poured more wine, sighing. "You may be telepathic, but you aren't a _mind reader_. Look, honey, I all I can say is I really need you right now."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I _need_ you. I'm just as scared. Vegeta and I have been through a lot. I could reconcile his _fire_ with my needs, because I lived a fulfilling life before we met, but --"  
  
"Hold on a second," Trunks locked thumbs with his mother. "Between your lover's quarrels with Yamcha?"  
  
"Don't get too cocky, you arrogant whelp." Bulma snatched her son's carefully bound hair apart, and then smacked his forehead. "Romantic relationships are complicated. Yamcha was my first real boyfriend."  
  
"And look how he turned out," Trunks said, smirking. "Then you found the perfect bad boy -- in my father."  
  
"Ha," Bulma snorted, rolling her eyes. "Perfect, he says! Stop trolling me. You know the damn story."  
  
"Yeah, I do." After taking a long look at his mother, Trunks corked the wine bottle. "Are you going to eat some more, mom? I think you should before we talk with dad and see Bulla again."  
  
"I'm not drunk," Bulma replied evenly, but she knew she was close. "It's…just…I have seen this kind of illness up close. It corrodes your will when there's nothing you can do but keep sick people comfortable before they die -- or watch them struggle for years to live. This is why _I'm not_ a medical doctor, although I have some training. Your father is the kind of man who goes out swinging --"  
  
"Until he decides that it's time to stop swinging, on his terms."   
  
"We're all such drama queens in this family!" Bulma squawked, placing her right hand over her heart. "I suppose that comes naturally for any royal dynasty."   
  
"But the prince of all Saiyans is going nowhere."  
  
"He's tough to exterminate." Bulma smiled, ruffling his hair. "That's for sure. But let's digress. Your sister's fever is down. She highly dislikes where she is now --"  
  
"Yeah," Trunks griped. "Don't we all?"   
  
"Just listen to me, Trunks," Bulma continued. "The weird part is I'm not sure if _her illness_ is such a bad thing -- especially now. It actually might be protecting her."  
  
"Um, OK." Trunks wondered if the alcohol had finally overpowered Bulma's good sense. Every genius has blind spots. Drinking usually didn't help. "Mom, no offense, but maybe you should leave the microbiology to the people using us as guinea pigs."  
  
"You are a part of this equation as well, Trunks -- and probably all of us. Anyway, I don't think we'll be sequestered here, in this way, for much longer. Roshi too."  
  
"So… what you're saying is the rest of us may have some type of immunity that full-blooded Saiyans don't have? And what about Goku?"  
  
"I don't know, son."  
  
Trunks gathered more food as they speculated. "Even so, it's possible that something like this could mutate and infect another species. Then everyone could be wiped out."  
  
"That could happen," Bulma agreed. "And, as we know, this virus is similar to what Goku had, but there's nowhere on Earth _now_ where people haven't already been vaccinated. Viruses are mercurial. Anyway, my hunch still says your theory won't come to fruition."  
  
"A hunch?" Trunks pointed his fork at her like a displeased professor. "Seriously, mom? How very _scientific_. We don't even have a clue how long the incubation period might be normally. Maybe Cabba has carried this virus for a while and something else finally triggered the illness, in addition to becoming Super Saiyan at the worst time. Maybe dad was more susceptible because of shitty luck."  
  
Bulma breathed in heavily to gather her thoughts. "And all scientific exploration begins with hypotheses. Then you test -- and test and test."  
  
Mercifully, the rest of the family and Roshi were home within a week. No biomarkers had been found during blood tests that showed precursors to infection: no suspicious-looking antigens, no moderate DNA changes, nothing. In effect, they were given the all-clear. Dr. Ito later explained that while this kind of virus could lie dormant in a body before causing symptomatic illness, the earliest stage of exposure would always be detectable when doctors knew where and how to look.  
  
Vegeta had been weathering fever attacks that usually began with almost convulsive shivering and ended with miserable heat and sweating. He had been given drugs to reduce their intensity, but every treatment had to be evaluated against others so his body wouldn't have an irreversible toxic reaction.  
  
Trunks happened to see him on a call at the tail-end of a febrile episode, appearing semi-breathless and paler than usual. Vegeta calmly observed his son's hardened gaze. He recognized himself in the visage -- and the beginnings of something significant. Trunks was channeling his anger elsewhere, but where? Vegeta decided not to worry _yet_ , but he would bring the subject up eventually.  
  
"Dad, I'm coming over. You look terrible."  
  
"To play dress-up in an overdone space suit? Not an option. You all were just released from this place."  
  
"You don't need to be alone when you're feeling really sick like this."  
  
"We… talk every day." Vegeta touched the side of the video monitor. "I do not feel lonely and have not for a long time, son."  
  
Trunks sighed as his father's words weighed on his mind. "You're _really_ making it hard for me not to bawl over here, dad."  
  
"You aren't me, Trunks. We aren't training, and I am… not judging you. Now go punch the shit out of something. Actually, start with Kakarot in my absence. He needs a proper playmate with enough of my personality to stay motivated. No over-the-top vulgarities unless he says something stupid."  
  
"Wow!" Trunks said, laughing. "That's going to be _really_ hard. Do you mean it?"  
  
Vegeta winked. "Don't embarrass me. You are still a prince."  
  
Trunks nodded, ending their chat. After the screen darkened, Vegeta turned over in bed. His breaths shook, but not from illness. While he felt no fear for himself, he still _felt_.

* * *

"Jaco, how far are you traveling into deep space when you leave this time?"  
  
"It depends on what you call deep, kid. Now what do you want? I've been chasing down hardened criminals through a few galaxies recently. I'm a busy person."  
  
Entertained by Jaco's dismissiveness -- and exaggeration -- Trunks replied, "Not really. You just left our beach house a month ago."  
  
"Bulma told you I extended my vacation there?! Did she tell Vegeta too? I tried really hard to clean up the mess I made in the training room and kitchen."  
  
Trunks helped his mother and aunt's childhood friend -- the so-called "super elite" galactic patrolman with an annoying inferiority complex -- gather provisions at a Capsule Corporation warehouse. He couldn't have hoped for a better luck when he heard Bulma and Tights earlier that morning discussing Jaco's stopover. He jumped at the opportunity to contact the cantankerous space cop, bribing him with food.   
  
"Dude, you're still alive. Be thankful and pay us back for the free vacation. That debt also goes, you know, for how my dad, Goku and just about everyone else powerful enough to help saved _this universe_."  
  
 _Yeah, that sadistic bastard Frieza too,_ Jaco thought with revulsion. _That was the least he could do -- and now it's someone else's job to kill him again or jail him. Won't be me…_  
  
His cheeks tingled, a uniquely visceral response to any request from the Briefs. Nothing good could come from aiding another renegade member of Bulma's family or friends, especially anyone with Saiyan genes. Despite his flaws, he was honorable enough not to throw ancient history in Trunks' face about his early galactic law-enforcement duty to collect -- or kill -- brainwashed Saiyan babies used for "cleansing" hapless planets.  
  
Jaco didn't know how much Trunks really knew and had no interest in disturbing the wasp's nest. Although Vegeta was still feared, he had a _decent_ reputation now -- and other than Frieza, anyone with vendettas against the prince was either long dead or kept a low profile because, like Vegeta, they wanted to live in peace too.  
  
"All right, kid," he grunted. "Spit it out. I don’t have all day."  
  
"Take me to Sadala, in Universe Six. You and the Galactic Patrol have the ability to get there, right?"  
  
Jaco eyed Trunks guardedly. He would have preferred having fewer persons know, but he decided to ride this one out -- kind of like having bad teeth pulled without anesthetic.   
  
"We've _always_ had it, although no higher ups in the patrol bothered telling me until recently, but it's never been our within jurisdiction. We have enough trouble in this universe. The less opportunity for curious criminals, dark-arts practitioners, and egomaniacal tyrants with good technology to find their way here, the better off we are."  
  
Frieza came to mind for both Jaco and Trunks with that last one.  
  
"Understood," Trunks said.  
  
"Yeah," Jaco continued. "What _they_ don't know won't hurt us. Why are you so interested in space-hopping?"  
  
"Cabba is extremely sick -- and it's possible that dad could end up like him. They're hospitalized at Capsule Corporation's off-site research center. I need to find out what's really going on."  
  
"What?" Jaco's face twisted with horror as he moved backward. "Are you contagious?"  
  
"No, you fool!" Trunks snapped. "I'm not that selfish!"  
  
"How am I supposed to know you're being truthful?! Bulma lied _a lot_ to get what she wanted when she was your age! Does she know you're trying to infect me?! You could be some kind of reservoir for a biological killing machine!"   
  
Trunks fired a thread-like energy beam between Jaco's legs to stop the hysterics. The diminutive bug-eyed humanoid jumped back, cursing a blue streak.   
  
"Like father, like son," he muttered. "Saiyan trigger fingers will be the death of me."   
  
"Jaco, _please_. Calm down. I need someone who can keep tabs on me without attracting much attention. Everyone else in my life will try to stop me, including Goten. I can't just let this happen. I have been suspicious of Cabba all along, but something my dad said --"  
  
"You just _said_ Vegeta is ill. He could…could be confused! Besides, it's not like your family doesn't have direct connections with VIPs. Cabba barely had to ask and Vados brought him here to train with your father, hmm?"  
  
Trunks looked at his watch. His father would be expecting to hear from him. They needed to get moving soon.   
  
"As _payback_ for fighting in the tournament, Jaco. And from what I've heard about Vados from Gohan, if she's anything like Whis, she has weird reasons for everything she does."   
  
"So why have you disliked Cabba so much?"  
  
"How did you know that?"  
  
Jaco smiled smugly. "Super elites have _great_ informants."  
  
"Whatever, man," Trunks said, ignoring him. "Because Cabba hasn't been up front with us. My father hasn't pressed him on it either. There's more happening on Sadala that we don't know about. Now that Cabba and dad are both sick, someone has to investigate."  
  
"So you think Vegeta's an idiot then?" Jaco said sarcastically. "I'm sure his colossal ego wouldn't appreciate your lack of faith in his judgment. And don't you find it strange that your father hasn't jumped at the chance to visit Sadala _yet_ after all this time?"  
  
Trunks was losing his patience but decided to entertain Jaco's anxiety-driven rant. _Honestly, I don't see how mom and Aunt Tights have put up with this guy's neuroticism since they were kids. But I guess I can't complain, considering what I'm asking_.  
  
"Fine, then. Since you think you know so much, what the hell is your theory?"  
  
"Because Vegeta must be formally invited, maybe? He's still royalty. Planets with monarchies have different protocols in every universe. Who knows what Cabba has said -- or not said -- on Sadala about meeting a _new_ group of Saiyans since the tournament?"  
  
Trunks nodded vigorously. "That's _exactly_ my point. Now are you going to help me?"  
  
"Your father will be furious." Jaco flung a capsule past him, unveiling his spaceship.  
  
"He might not live long enough to stay angry," Trunks said somberly, "and as much as your high-and-mighty Galactic Police Force hate to admit it, keeping my dad and Goku _alive_ makes your jobs easier sometimes."   
  
Irked, Jaco hunched as his fists tightened on the ship's ladder. "Look, _boy_ , I'm not as jealous of their power as you believe. I'm just not thrilled about possibly endangering you. My luck isn't always that great, and Bulma and Tights are my friends. If all hell breaks loose in Six and you end up harmed -- and I'm not -- then I must bear that shame. Now get your ass on my ship before I change my mind."  
  
"Then we'll think happy thoughts!" Trunks said, patting Jaco's back. "Thank you."   
  
"Don't thank me yet, and you better have those cookies promised to me earlier."  
  
Trunks laughed. "I have _way, way more_ than that. I have to eat too."  
  
"We'll travel in deep sleep for a period before reaching the worm hole, and some time after, so satisfy your greediness now."  
  
"How long will it take?"  
  
"Trunks, let's just say the multiverse's Galactic Patrols take far, far less time to travel by ship -- by _any_ standard. Forces much higher than you and me allow that because of our collective mission. The kais seek universal balance. We contribute. Beyond that, mortals have free will to commit good and terrible acts that must largely be dealt with --"  
  
"By the mortals who commit those acts." Looking at the Capsule Corporation logo, Trunks considered the sacrifices his namesake from Earth's alternate future made.  
  
Now it was _his_ _turn_.

* * *

Vegeta had no desire to stay in bed, as he was ordered to do, despite coming down from another draining fever spike and intravenous-fluid replenishment. He expected his energy reserves would last a much longer time before he became very ill, unlike with Cabba. His full-body pain threshold was also extremely high, which could be a blessing and a curse. But his head _did_ hurt like hell at the moment, nauseating him.  
  
He closed the window shades and dimmed the lights before widening his bed for more comfort. He hoped to hear from Bulma soon but didn't want her nesting at the research center instead of caring for herself and the children, now that they were all home. He swallowed, attempting not to cough -- albeit unsuccessfully.  
  
Vegeta had expected his son to check in, which hadn't happened. Trunks' hurricane-like moods needed firm hands to guide him through. The prince had no intention of surrendering that duty completely to _anyone_ , illness be damned.  
  
He had almost fallen asleep until the video monitor beeped. He didn't open his eyes. "Answer, and lower the volume."  
  
"Hey, handsome. You sound a little hoarse."  
  
Vegeta rubbed his temples. "Let's get something straight right now, Bulma. You will drive yourself -- and me -- insane dissecting every symptom I have. You know better than that."  
  
"Are you serious?" Bulma didn't know whether to be angry or confused. "I can't believe you fixed your mouth to say that at a time like this!"  
  
"OK, fine," Vegeta grumbled as his cheeks flushed. "Maybe soppiness will work better. I love you. _Stop it_."   
  
"Damn." Bulma burst out laughing, detecting a barely withheld chuckle from her husband. "I really didn't expect that! Um, I _guess_ I love you back, prince grumpy."  
  
Feeling more nauseated, Vegeta took a few tablets to hold down his last meal. "That's the only one you're getting for the next eighteen years."   
  
Hearing him tossing in bed, Bulma replied, "Turn on the screen. I need to see you."  
  
"Not right now. I need to avoid too much light. Headache."   
  
"How about I get suited up and come visit you now?"  
  
"Tomorrow, Bulma. Tomorrow. They're keeping me comfortable."  
  
She lowered her voice. "I take no pleasure in this suggestion, but maybe you should stay in another room for a bit. Cabba isn't doing that well, and you might need a break from that stress being so close to you."  
  
"No."  
  
"Vegeta --"  
  
"I _said_ no. My spirits are fine. Seeing him like this does not upset me in the way you think. If I want to be alone, I meditate in the sitting room."  
  
"Fine," Bulma conceded. "I'm too tired to argue."  
  
"Good." Vegeta muted the monitor while he coughed softly. His irritability had been triggered by something beyond his wife's requests. "How are the children?"  
  
"Bulla is sleeping peacefully."  
  
"And the boy?"  
  
"He's been out in the nature preserve. Said he really needed to be surrounded by trees."  
  
"He did?" Vegeta's eyes opened partially. "So that's why I haven't heard from him. When do you expect him back? It's almost dusk."  
  
"He should be arriving soon -- maybe in about an hour. He had my permission to stay off the electronic and _telepathic_ grid for most of the day."  
  
"How is his attitude?"  
  
"Serious, but very supportive of me and his sister. What's worrying you?"  
  
"Just have him contact me as soon as he arrives." Vegeta's eyes shut again as he concentrated. "Telepathy only goes so far when the other caller is _blocked out_."  
  
"He's _fine_ , babe. Save your energy. Remember, I just said he's off the grid. Hey, to change the subject briefly, Jaco is back in town."  
  
"So soon?" Vegeta said, sounding mildly annoyed. "For what? Where is he now?"  
  
"He's gathering materials at the East Landing warehouse for another trip."  
  
"Of course he is," Vegeta said with greater displeasure. "At least you have a good reason now to keep him from freeloading at our _homes_."  
  
"I would've said he couldn't stay if he asked, but he didn't -- and you know Jaco. He freaks out when people have the sniffles. No need to tell him everything now."  
  
"You could bring him to see me, _unsuited_. We might become best buddies as rashes spread across our manly chests -- or, rather, just mine."   
  
Bulma accepted her husband's gallows humor. If that's what it took to keep him sharp, then so be it. "Gods, you are so evil -- and you should rest. I'll be over early tomorrow."  
  
"Hn."  
  
Vegeta listened to Cabba's ventilator churn for a while. Ignoring his headache as much as he could, he moved to a reasonably comfortable chair next to the young Saiyan's bed. His thoughts mostly stayed on Trunks, though. Jaco was a footnote.   
  
Vegeta didn't know someone was watching him from afar. Whis frowned intensely, knowing that he had to show restraint, but the angel had become quite fond of this _particular_ student. He also admired the Saiyan prince's determination to be a better man.  
  
"I'm sorry that I cannot help you more this time…or your son," he whispered. His thumb and forefinger touched, kindly granting Vegeta temporary relief from the headache. With the pain gone, the prince fell into a deep sleep.  
  
"That's right, little brother," Vados said, appearing beside him. Whis waved his golden staff, showing the trajectory of Jaco's ship. "You cannot -- and you must stop hovering over these mortals. They are not your playthings. The tournament is long over."  
  
"Teachers have a right to monitor their best students," Whis sniffed, dismissing her biting scold. "You do with me."  
  
"That is different, _brother_." Vados's highly arched brow rose. "Listen, Vegeta's death --"  
  
"He _won't_ die, Vados." Whis's determined glare settled on his sister's face like solid rock. "You are trying my patience."  
  
Vados sighed, pondering other ways to overcome her brother's stubbornness. Their kind had _rules_ about impartiality she believed Whis had become too cavalier with flouting since meeting Vegeta and Goku. Toiling was almost all mortals' lot in life. She didn't want Whis to join that struggle. Although it didn't happen often, angels who overstepped could be stripped of their status and then forced to live as mortals afterward.   
  
"If you say so," she replied. "There is unrest in my universe, as you know. If Vegeta's only son dies while trying to help his father, the prince's grief will worsen the illness's effects. I can't see him living through that sorrow in a weakened state."  
  
"You have also seen Vegeta fight for a cause," Whis said, waving her off. "Even Lord Beerus greatly respects his will. Furthermore, _you_ allowed Cabba to visit Earth. And the youth is not dead…yet."   
  
"We _owed_ Cabba a reward, and I don't interfere in lesser affairs of mortals as much as you," Vados retorted. "I didn't know he was afflicted with the sickness until you told me, Supreme Kai Fuwa and Lord Champa. We were occupied."  
  
Vados conjured another image, this time inside of Jaco's ship. Trunks was drying his hair, now cut into shorter spikes and dyed midnight black. His eye pupils were black, as well.  
  
Whis smiled at his sister. "Well, you can't say the boy isn't resourceful. Having Bulma's hair and eye color on Sadala surely wouldn't help."  
  
None too amused by her brother's self-satisfaction, Vados's thoughtful gaze remained on the image. "Resourceful, indeed."

* * *

**Please take a moment to leave a comment if you can. Also, thanks to everyone who offered thoughts about clarifying parts of the last chapter!**


	11. Revelations and Violations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recap: Trunks has left with Jaco for Sadala without his parents' permission, attempting to figure out how to stop the illness affecting Vegeta and Cabba. He also suspects more trouble might be happening there -- and disguises himself. Vados and Whis, the angels of Universes Six and Seven, argued about involvements with the affairs of mortals.

Bulma sat in the family library observing the hues and shine of the wall-to-wall bookshelves. Tomes of all kinds, some ancient, filled them. Master Roshi had found a comfortable spot on the carpeted floor on the opposite side of giant desk, sitting cross-legged. He wasn't smiling, uncharacteristically. Instead, he vigilantly kept close watch on Bulma's growing detachment from their surroundings.  
  
This would not do.  
  
Bulma had been sprawled across the sofa with a disheveled blanket drawn over her head when Roshi found her earlier. Trunks' unmoving image stood off to the side, next to the desk. At the moment, Bulma didn't really care who was standing there until Roshi's curiosity forced his hand -- literally -- to fold the blanket an inch beneath her nose. When she said Trunks had disappeared, he merely sighed, thinking about his sister's earlier "fortune telling" about possible trouble ahead.  
  
"It would be folly to say you shouldn't worry about him."  
  
Bulma's laconic, exhausted reply came in slow motion. "Then _why_ say anything at all?"  
  
"Because you, my dear, are too valuable an asset."  
  
" _Asset_ , Roshi?!" Her disbelieving hiss smacked his ears like hornet's sting. "What the hell does that have to do with my teenage son running off half-cocked in deep space while _his father_ is hospitalized?!"  
  
"Dear, just listen to me --"  
  
Bulma jumped up, marching toward the double doors facing the botanical gardens. "Don't placate me -- and don't call me dear, damn it! I have been in the planet-saving business longer than that boy has been alive -- not to mention attending to his father's needs."  
  
"All of them were your choices, were they not, Bulma?"  
  
Roshi had some gall picking her emotions apart like this, Bulma thought. He was no bystander. He had faced similar dilemmas, cursing with worry over the years about his impetuous, cocksure students running off to slay beasts -- mental or physical -- without being fully prepared. Life had never been boring, but the old man spent most days on a secluded island now for good reason.  
  
"Choices _my ass_ ," she replied with a grunt, followed by a tiny smile. "They were out of necessity and my oh-so-selfish interest in extending my life and gorgeous looks. Falling in love with Vegeta was... oh, never mind."  
  
Roshi chuckled. "The best thing that ever happened to you both -- and the rest of us fully invested in staying alive."  
  
Bulma restarted the paused holographic message from Trunks, playing his monologue from the beginning. He appeared calm, standing with his arm propped on a walking stick. His cheeks flushed somewhat as he spoke.  
  
"Hey, mom. First, I wanna say I love you. You really are the best mom ever."  
  
"Just listen to this kid," Bulma muttered as Roshi moved closer to see. "He can't even kiss up to me appropriately _by hologram_. That's how terrible he feels about not telling me up front. You're damned right! I am the best mom!"  
  
Bulma shook her fist until Roshi reached up, gripping it hard until he held her gaze.  
  
"Bulma, he's two years younger than your _other_ son was before traveling to Earth to help us all those years ago. No doubt, he's probably thinking of that situation."  
  
Trunks didn't say _who_ he was hitchhiking with in space, although Bulma and Roshi easily figured that out. Bulma had already spent twenty minutes shouting obscenities and threats into a communicator that could reach Jaco almost anywhere, courtesy of the Galactic Patrol. Her fiery dispatch would arrive eventually.  
  
"And they are two very _different_ people, Roshi, although both share Vegeta's strong personality," Bulma replied. "Our boy isn't _ready_ to go it alone yet -- emphasis on the word _boy_. Also, he doesn't have to. The other Trunks was forced to, at first, by circumstances beyond his control."  
  
"But your boy isn't alone." Roshi lit his pipe, appearing meditative. "Jaco isn't totally incompetent, you know."  
  
"He isn't, but Trunks is a charmer and _almost_ as cunning as Vegeta when he's focused. Give my fifteen-year-old enough time and Jaco will treat him like a four-star general."  
  
"Not in this lifetime!" Roshi said assuredly. "Jaco is no impressionable youngster. His enormous ego won't allow that to happen anyway."   
  
"I just don't know what I'm going to tell his father. Vegeta's suspicion that Trunks was up to something turned out to be right."  
  
"Do you what you've always done. Tell Vegeta the truth. In the meantime, I think we should get the gang over here to strategize. Maybe Dende could weigh-in too."  
  
Bulma wasn't sure what Earth's guardian could do to help now, but Dende was quite wise despite his youth -- with support from Piccolo, his Namekian brother-protector, who would likely have much to say without saying all that much. Mostly, Bulma felt uncertain about sending a full reconnaissance team to Sadala, once they figured out how to get there. These thoughts nagged at her, especially with Vegeta's inability to lead -- and he _most certainly_ would lead if he could.  
  
"That's fine," she told Roshi, "but we also need to strong-arm someone to help get helpers to Sadala. The universes aren't falling apart before our eyes, you know, so I'm not sure how much the kais will help."

"Perhaps… though all of your favors haven't been cashed in _just_ _yet_." Roshi clasped his hands behind his back, cocking his head. "Maybe angels can't help, but let's not forget the invaluable lessons _our kais_ have taught _our Saiyans_ , enhanced by your technological brilliance."  
  
Bulma blushed from the compliment, feeling gratified to hear it from someone other than Vegeta. "Of course, and there always have been limits on the kais' support. Don't forget that the Dragon Balls, senzu beans, and _luck_ have brought the boys' success too."  
  
A robotic arm extended from the wall, revealing a small interactive view-screen. "Your husband is attempting to contact you, Dr. Brief. Are you available to speak?"  
  
"Give me a second!" Bulma snapped. "Oh, damn it. I said I would be there early."  
  
"It's still early," Roshi said, smiling.  
  
"Vegeta and I measure time differently from normal people."  
  
Roshi hastily shuffled to an exit. "I'll round up the gang. Good luck."   
  
Bulma quickly nodded to take Vegeta's call. He looked wretched, but at least he was up and walking. He refused to wear hospital clothing, saying it made him feel like a prison inmate.  
  
Bulma's hand touched the screen. She couldn't help herself. "Remember what I said about pacing yourself?"  
  
"I'm OK." Vegeta's gruff response was grounded more in concern about their family than irritation. "I wasn’t holding food down well earlier, but I'm fine now. At least I'm not puking blood yet. Anyway, you're late. That's unlike you, which means --"  
  
"It means I'm late," Bulma said gently. "Nothing more. I'll be over shortly."  
  
"Let's not make white lies a habit in this family." Vegeta gripped the windowsill as sunlight bathed his now clean-shaven face. "Our boy left for Sadala, didn't he?"  
  
The prince could be highly intuitive and plain-spoken, but his immediate and specific diagnosis stunned his wife, though it probably shouldn't have.  
  
Bulma gave him a stiff nod, answering his question. Although Vegeta felt proud of their son's determination to help, Trunks lacked a plan -- and could conceivably fall victim to overwhelming circumstances before assistance arrived. Moreover, the prince _expected_ Dragon Team members to deliver that help, or an even higher power.  
  
Maybe not Goku this time, though. Not yet.   
  
"We need to adjust your medications to stop the vomiting," Bulma said, picking up a handbag. "The last thing I want is you on a feeding tube. I… love you."  
  
"I know," Vegeta said, rejecting the hint of sadness in her voice. "Stay encouraged -- for Trunks, Cabba and me. Our son is only walking in our footsteps, doing what we've done often."  
  
Shaking her head, Bulma replied, "The pride of a Saiyan is tireless… and timeless."  
  
Vegeta grunted in agreement, thinking about his semi-restless night, but not because of the fevers, sleep-deprivation, or even throwing up. Those were irritations.   
  
"I might doze when you arrive, Bulma. I didn't sleep well."  
  
Bulma smiled sympathetically. "That's never stopped me from cuddling with you before. I think we can make it work with the sexy biohazard suit I have now."  
  
"It's… more than you not being here." Vegeta covered his face, exhaling. "Yamoshi's spirit came to me in a dream last night, joined by the five righteous Saiyans."  
  
"That's never happened before." Bulma's neck stiffened. "What…what did he say?"  
  
"It's what he _didn't_ say," Vegeta replied. "My ability to use Super Saiyan God power is a privilege bestowed through his spirit -- and through my training with Whis."  
  
Bulma bit her fingernails. "And Yamoshi used that power to fight Saiyans who were evil."  
  
Vegeta paused, feeling more out of breath. "None of this is a coincidence."

* * *

Renso left the royal court more enraged than he had been in years, and yet his broad face and deep-set eyes didn't betray his disappointment. His appearance exuded poise and refinement, befitting his new role an intelligence director within the Imperial Court's defense ministry. Despite using a cane, he stood tall, and almost all he encountered that day showed him the respect he earned as a former captain of the Sadala Defense Forces.  
  
All except for a handful of unpleasant characters vying for King Bega's attention, including the monarch's heir apparent, Ador.  
  
Now in his thirties, the Saiyan prince had privilege, good looks, wit, and bar-none combat skills. He had also become an unbearably pompous ass with a mean streak. Unlike the king, who proudly served in the SDF during his youth, Ador rejected that option. He trained regularly and traveled on big non-SDF military expeditions to observe, but dirtying his tightly gloved hands with "commoners" to protect the planet _solely,_ even for a few years, was anathema to him.

The king, however, built valuable relationships within the ranks, winning support and admiration across class lines before his coronation. Ador arrogantly believed that he should have led the entire Sadalan Army from the beginning, despite not holding _any_ rank or title, unlike Bega. Though the SDF was the highest class of military elite, because they were in direct service to the king, the power-hungry prince scoffed at that.  
  
King Bega hadn't worried much about death, much like his father and grandfather. They ruled fairly for the most part, although all had flaws. Secretly, the king also wasn't wedded to the idea that the monarchy should stay within his and his deceased wife's bloodline. Saying so would cause more trouble among his family and the Saiyan people than he was ready to deal with for now. But Bega had to decide soon, because his long and mostly happy life was coming to a close, maybe within a year. He also suffered from deep heartache since his beloved first-born son, Nip, died from an accidental poisoning while visiting another planet. The prince's intelligent level-headedness -- and, most of all, his Saiyan pride -- were praised throughout the kingdom.

Everyone loved him -- even his selfish, misguided younger brother.  
  
Bega and Nip were also quite fond of another earnest young Saiyan influenced by their leadership -- Cabba -- and kept close eyes on his military career. They wanted him to be groomed eventually for higher office. Nip's untimely death happened shortly before the Tournament of Power, though. Cabba's grief fueled his resolve to protect the universe. Visiting Earth afterward kept him focused, but it hurt profoundly to know he could never introduce Vegeta to Nip now. He wanted to keep that promise to his newest teacher.

As Cabba's lifelong mentor and confidant, Renso kept the young man's whereabouts a close secret. Others in the SDF didn't question Cabba's absence either. It wasn't their place. Renso's successor, a hardened fighter named Rose, understood implicitly that lives might be at stake if Cabba's cover was blown within Sadala's halls of power.

No one else knew how ill Bega really was except for Renso and a dedicated medical team, who respected the king's privacy. The ethics of their secrecy were questionable, though. Sadalans had a right to know if their top leader would soon be unfit to rule. But Ador had a growing retinue of loyalists, making high-level leaders of the royal ministries nervous. The prince hadn't been shy about his desire for Sadala to become a dominant hegemon within the universe. His expected crowning wouldn't merely be ceremonial once Bega died, because ruling meant something entirely different to him.  
  
"Captain Renso! Please, do let me apologize."  
  
Displeased, Renso pivoted slowly on his cane as Ador galloped toward him in the palace's Great Hall. The prince tried to appear contrite, but his baleful eyes would've terrified wild jackals. Renso, who felt like cratering the marble floor with his good leg, lifted his chin.  
  
"I didn't mean to offend you in the meeting, sir."  
  
"You are a _deliberate_ thinker," Renso replied coldly.  
  
Ador frowned. "Are you calling me a liar?"  
  
"That wasn't my intention, Ador. You have strong opinions. That is the way of _all_ Saiyans. Your apology is accepted. Now, if you will excuse me, I do have business to tend."  
  
"I appreciate your graciousness, sir." Ador's perfectly shined black boot blocked Renso's cane. "However, if you could lend a bit more of your time? I'm deeply bothered over news I learned of recently."  
  
"Or course." Renso observed Ador's hungry look. He wasn't hiding behind feigned propriety anymore, which meant trouble. "What concerns you, your highness?"  
  
"It's come to my attention that the SDF fighter you and father think highly of, Cabba, might be my dead brother's _bastard_ son. Did you know -- and does _the king_ know?"  
  
Ador unsuccessfully tried to identify any alarm in the man's face. Renso would never give him the satisfaction. He rapped the prince's ankle sharply with his cane.  
  
"Young man, with all due respect, if you cannot trust a father _who loves you_ enough to ask this question, then why should you trust someone like me to answer for him?"  
  
"Again, you have served Sadala honorably, _old man_ ," Ador said through a thin sneer. "It must be very distressing for a decorated Saiyan soldier such as yourself to be crippled forever. At least you don't have heirs who will suffer from your dreadful degenerative disease. But trust that when I'm king, your _loyalty_ will continue to be rewarded."  
  
Renso locked eyes with him. "The welfare of our people means _everything_ to me. That is where my loyalty rests."

* * *

Trunks had packed a sword.  
  
Jaco's bug eyes didn't enlarge this time from surprise. He merely steeled himself for whatever hell awaited them next -- a hell that Trunks would probably create.

"What are you going to do with that, kid?"  
  
"Probably nothing," Trunks said nonchalantly. "Just checking its condition."  
  
"Since _when_ did Saiyans fight with weapons like that?" Jaco asked, grumbling noisily. "It just might weigh you down, you know? Besides, you may not need to fight at all. They may welcome you with open arms."  
  
"My father always says don't ask a lot of questions you already know the answer to, Jaco. You're as old as dirt and have seen _a lot_ as a patrolman -- and Saiyans aren't all fists and kicks. Dad knows swordplay. He just doesn't prefer using it."   
  
"Kid, look, although we'll likely get to Sadala before anyone else, you chose to leave a note for _mommy_ when you didn't have to. Others in your family's cartel will find a way to chase us down. You only lucked out that Goku can't teleport between universes yet."  
  
Trunks smirked, calling his bluff. "You planned to snitch to mom _anyway_ after getting within Sadala's airspace -- and I'll probably have a better idea of what should happen once others arrive."  
  
"I must say, that weapon is a work of art." Jaco glanced at the sword again. "Where have you been hiding it all this time?"  
  
"A really good guy gave this to me a while back. He just… trusted me, a young kid." Trunks ran his finger along the blade. "He said the sword would 'speak' when I was ready. It's enchanted. I had it stored in this capsule until recently. My parents didn't know."  
  
"A _really good guy_ gave you an enchanted sword like a plate of hot biscuits? You mean a wizard did -- or someone close to one. What _is it_ with your family's luck?!"  
  
"Luck." Trunks looked down. "Yeah, right. When dad gets frustrated with Goten and me sometimes, he'll say, 'Do more. Complain less.' But every now and then I wish _luck_ could give us a normal life like all the other clueless people out there."  
  
"Let's get your desires straight here." Jaco took the sword, inspecting markings on its shoulder and hilt. "What you mean is you want a peaceful life. You will never be alone in that yearning, Trunks. Plenty of mortals across the multiverse feel the same way."  
  
Trunks pointed at the weapon's base. "Those circular designs near the guard are runes."  
  
"I have _some_ knowledge of magic across galaxies," Jaco replied haughtily. "There are some advantages to being as old as dirt."  
  
"I know you're not that old, Jaco."  
  
"Your _overdue_ apology is accepted," Jaco said as he re-capsulized the sword. "Now take off your shirt again and turn around. I meant to tell you earlier to leave it off."  
  
"For _what_?" At first Trunks wondered if Jaco had unseemly plans in mind. _Not cool_. He quietly prepared to choke the life out of him. He knew how to fly ships solo.  
  
"I want to plant a tracking device beneath your shoulder blade. It's a simple procedure."  
  
"You want to plug a microchip in my back?" Trunks growled. "I'm not a new puppy. Are we in the Dark Ages?"  
  
"Minimalism has its benefits." Jaco retrieved a syringe, squirting it a few times before motioning for Trunks to sit on an examination table. "I'm surprised you haven't learned this from your parents. You'll have a unique numerical identifier that's readable within a limited electromagnetic frequency."  
  
"In other words, I'm flying under the radar."  
  
"Wow!" Jaco shouted. "You may actually be smarter than most other earthlings I've met. Now shut up and hold still while I poke you."

* * *

Caulifla would have traded her left eye to see Cabba now. Even after the universal tournament she had been standoffish, although she cared for him. She only disapproved of his excessive neediness -- as she called it -- for other strong men like her older brother Renso and Prince Nip. Then Vegeta came along. He was a decent person -- an honorable one, even -- but she bristled at how easily others overlooked his swaggering but didn't give hers the benefit of the doubt, at least initially. Her fighting kicked ass, almost besting Goku -- the only fighter who seemed most thrilled by her dogged effort then.  
  
She had no obligation to the military, birthing babies, or "making Sadala great again," as some Saiyans were saying recently -- as if their home was a bad place to be. It wasn't. Those gripers had _no idea_ what others endured to keep them alive long enough to complain. But Caulifla was at peace with not speaking further about the tournament for now.  
  
Cabba was an accomplished fighter and thoughtful person -- full stop. Nip had significant influence over his son's progress but never directly owned up to it. Caulifla stopped speaking to Renso because he didn't use his friendship with the prince to right that wrong. She judged her brother more harshly than he truly deserved.  
  
Now she had no idea where Cabba and Renso were -- or where she was. After the tournament, she and her lover, Kale, happily departed to another planet for a while before returning to marry on Sadalan soil. That's when their worlds turned sideways.  
  
Now, between the injections, shame and confusion had become her chief companions. Kale had disappeared.  
  
"Give her more, Turret. I _do_ enjoy watching her lose control like this."  
  
"Sir, I think…"  
  
Prince Ador coolly placed his hand on the man's shoulder. "I didn't _ask_ you to think. Even her own brother isn't searching for her! _That_ should tell you something."  
  
Turret nodded passively before injecting Caulifla with a bluish substance. Muddled words and slurred laughter dropped from her mouth. The man moved aside after a milky silver shading appeared on her pupils. She couldn't fight the euphoria. She didn't want to now.  
  
"Yes." Ador licked his lips, bending down to see her eyes. "Feels lovely, doesn't it? So glad you approve of my hospitality. Maybe we'll make a baby for the hell of it."  
  
Drifting further away, Caulifla moaned as Ador fondled her breasts. She didn't recognize him or his strange voice. He always wore a mask. That's all her consciousness could gather. His uninvited touching amplified the drug's arousing effects, overpowering what little inhibition she had left. She would've tried to behead him had her mind been clearer, but her strength meant nothing here.

Ador didn't know what he had with her yet, exactly, but he knew he had _something_ special.  
  
"See, Turret? You worry too much. My lovely concubine is enjoying herself immensely. Now go away for a while. Return in about an hour." He picked up a handkerchief, tying it around Caulifla's partially open mouth before unshackling and spreading her legs apart.  
  
Feeling ashamed, Turret looked down after leaving. He heard Sadala's so-called prince remove his pants to rape a woman, groaning and laughing through it all. 

* * *

**Hi there! Please take a moment to leave a comment if you can. I'm in the middle of a life change right now, so it may be a few weeks or more before a new posting. But, as I promised, I will finish. (I want you all to be happy with it!) Also, I invite you to visit vegebul-fledgelings on Tumblr. It's a new page dedicated to assisting fledgling writers with less exposure in the fandom. The founders are serious about their effort and are looking for volunteers. Thanks!**


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